


Down by the Brazos

by ionthesparrow



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-21 07:18:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ionthesparrow/pseuds/ionthesparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you can love a place, even if it don’t love you back. But sometimes you can find someone that do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is now complete.
> 
> Warnings: This story is set in the rural south, and has the requisite amounts of racism, homophobia, sexism, and grammar mangling*, and problematic portrait of a southern family. This story also has very little to do with actual hockey. If that's not going to work for you, please just move right along.
> 
> *Because it's come up a couple times, by this I mean _me_ , the Author - I'm mangling the grammar, of both the dialect, and you know, like, in general (just thought I would clarify :) [edited 10:40pmPT, 12/18]
> 
> Also, this story would not exist if were not for [Empathapathique](http://archiveofourown.org/users/empathapathique), who handled my near-constant crises of self doubt with considerable patience. So, thanks for that. 
> 
> More complete notes will follow when I get the last bit up!

 

 

_O magnet-South! O glistening perfumed South! my South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! good and evil! O all dear to me!_

 

 

 

 

Jeff has two brothers, and two sisters – and one-half brother, if you believe Lacey over at Cottontails. And all the boys work on the boats, and all Jeff’s uncles work on the boats, and Jeff’s daddy has his name on the _Fishermen Lost at Sea_ memorial plaque, over in Galveston – which makes him damn near a saint in Jeff’s mama’s eyes, despite the fact they he weren’t ever very good at fishing, and weren’t but an indifferent family man. 

But Jeff is the baby, and mama says her baby ain’t working on no shrimping boat. Least not ‘til he finishes school. Which don’t mean Jeff don’t work – Jeff is 13, and thus plenty old enough to help out with household expenses. So after school he shucks oysters over at Tommy’s, where he gets a quarter for every ten gallon bucket he gets through. He could bus tables for tips too, but none of them tourists ever tip anyways. And he has to watch his baby cousins, ‘cause Mama works, and Darlene works, and Mary Louise ain’t no good and can’t ever be trusted to be where she say going to be. 

Which leaves precious little time for the finer things in life, which is why Jeff is so excited today – it’s Sunday, and they already sat through the church program on TV, so now Jeff has the whole afternoon stretching out in front of him, with nothing impeding on his ability to do whatsoever he pleases. It’s November, but it’s a fine, clear day; the clouds nothing but high wisps overhead, and Jeff has his fishing pole, and bait, and he’s headed for his favorite fishing spot, which you get to by crossing the canal that runs next to state route 646, and following the chain link fence till you get to the spot where it’s all rusted away, and duck through. 

Jeff’s already feeling quite fine; this part of the walk is shady and pleasant, and he’s humming to himself, daydreaming about what he’s going to catch as he’s ducking through that the very fence. But he’s only made it two steps onto the other side when somebody yells at him, “Hey. You’re not supposed to be in here.” 

Jeff freezes and looks up. 

There’s a man and boy standing there. They’re standing at the edge of the water, hunched over it, holding teeny little jars in their hands. They're both looking at him, and the man’s frowning real hard. “Can’t you read?” 

Jeff can read just _fine,_ thank you. But he has no idea what the man is talking about, ‘til the man points back at the fence, and Jeff glances back, and yeah, there is a sign on that fence. But he’s passed it so many times it’s just background at this point. Now that he’s looking at it, it says, _GOVERNMENT PROPERTY. NO TRESSPASSING. NO FISHING. NO SWIMMING. NO DUMPING._

Jeff’s been fishing here for years, and he’s pretty sure that sign’s been there since before he was born, and ain’t nobody cared about it till just now. But this man – he has on a nice button-down shirt, and he got nice boots on – the kind the guys who run the _big_ trawlers out of Galveston wear. And Jeff knows better than to mouth off to a man wearing nice boots. That’s a good way your butt kicked, one way or the other. So he just says, “Sorry, sir.” And ducks back through the fence right quick. 

He ain’t made it but a few steps back down the canal, when that boy comes chasing out after him. “Hey! Hey!” he shouts. 

Jeff stops and turns around. 

“Are you going fishing?” the boy asks. 

Jeff squints, because he’s holding a fishing pole, ain’t he? It’s not like he’s going to take it _dancing._ But the boy talks funny, so it’s possible he’s slow, like Auntie May’s boy, the eldest one, who can’t count past ten. “Yep,” Jeff says. 

“Can I come?” He looks so eager Jeff is suspicious. 

“I ain’t got but one pole,” Jeff says. 

“We can share. Or we can go by my house, and get mine.” He grins at Jeff hopefully. “It’s not far.” Then he pauses. “You talk funny.” 

“Boy, I don’t talk funny. _You_ talk funny,” Jeff snaps. 

And that is how Jeff meets Mike. 

 

 

“His people just moved into that house over on Edgewater Way,” Jeff says over dinner. “The one that lady used to live in.” 

“That means he works for government,” Darlene says. “That’s a government house.” 

“Mike says his daddy’s here to study the water,” Jeff adds, pleased to know something his sister don’t yet. 

“Mmmhmm.” She nods. “That’s the kind of thing they do. Anyway,” she tousles his hair, “if they got a boy your age I hope they stick around. That other lady, she didn’t last but six months.” 

“That’s ‘cause she was a dyke.” This from his Uncle Jack, who’s emphasizing the point with his chicken leg. 

“Just ‘cause she didn’t want to sleep with you don’t make her no lesbian,” his sister Mary Louise says. “Just makes her smarter than most of the women in this town.” 

“Well, she could certainly teach _you_ a thing or two about discriminating, since you – ” 

“That’s enough,” Jeff’s mama says. “Both of you, hush.” 

“Mike’s got a store-bought pole,” Jeff says in between bites. “It’s real light. And you can fold it up, put it your bag to carry it.” 

His mama and Darlene exchange _looks_ over the table. “Boy, what do you want a folding pole for, when you don’t even have a bag to put it in?” 

“I didn’t say I _wanted_ one.” Jeff frowns. “I just said he had one, that’s all.” 

His mama sighs. “Where’d his family come in from, anyway?” 

_“Canada.”_ Even the word feels foreign in Jeff’s mouth. Jeff knows where Canada is. His geography textbook has maps and all. You just go north till you run out of United States, and then you keep going. But whereas on the page, America is all filled in with states, and rivers, and cities. Canada is just a big gray block sitting up there. Jeff’s never thought of it as somewhere you could be _from,_ before. 

“Canada?” Jeff’s Granddaddy asks, sounding surprised. “You know my brother went on a hunting trip up to Canada, once. He said they had the biggest deer you ever seen.” 

Darlene rolls her eyes. “That was Alaska. And they weren’t deer, they were them other things – like Santa Claus had.” 

“Canada, Alaska – what’s the difference? And, anyway – ” 

But then one of Jeff’s baby cousins starts screaming bloody murder, so that’s the end of that discussion. 

 

 

Mike’s also in school with Jeff. And he’s smart. Although if he was really smart, he’d learn not to be so lippy with the teachers – ‘cause if they don’t smack you, they probably just saving it up to tell your parents the next time they see 'em, and that’s _worse._

Mike’s fast, too. He didn’t know how to play football when he first got here; he said that up in Canada he plays _hockey_ – which led to a lot of blank-eyed staring on the part of all the boys in Jeff’s grade, but Mike picked football up fast. And since he’s so quick, he gets picked early every game. 

So he’s smart, and he’s good at sports, and he could probably do a whole hell of lot better than _Jeff_ for a friend. Jeff, who’s never quite managed to turn his long legs into anything helpful at sports. Jeff, who’s too shy to say anything in class, even when he’s doodling the answer in the margin of his notebook. But for whatever reason, Mike seems set on him and Jeff being friends. “Do you want to come over?” he asks Jeff, after school. “Or go fishing?” 

“I can’t.” Jeff says. “I gotta go shuck oysters.” 

_“Or-sters?”_ Mike’s making fun again. “Jeff, there ain’t but one ‘R’ in _oyster._ OY-ster.” Mike’s recently picked up _ain’t,_ and he’s working it in everywhere he can. 

Jeff rolls his eyes and smacks Mike’s arm. “Whatever. I still gotta go shuck’em.” 

“Alright, well – tomorrow maybe?” 

“Yeah, maybe,” Jeff agrees, although there’s no way he can tomorrow, neither. 

 

 

On Saturday, there’s a knock on the screen door. Jeff calls out, “She ain’t here,” because he figures it’s Miss Eileen from across the way, looking for his mama. But the knock comes again, so Jeff steps out onto the screen porch to see who it is. 

It ain’t Miss Eileen, it’s Mike. And Jeff blushes, because he’s barefoot, and got a spit-up stained rag draped over his shoulder, from trying to get Ray Jr. to eat something, and it’s not exactly a _manly_ get up. Jeff swaps Ray Jr. over to his other hip and lets Mike in. “Hey.” 

Mike is frowning at him. “What are you doing?” 

_God._ “What does it _look_ like I’m doing? I’m watching my cousins.” There’s a wail from inside, so Jeff has to duck back into the house. “Knock it off, Leelee. Leave the baby alone.” 

Mike’s followed him in, and he’s looking around, kinda wild-eyed. “Are these… _all_ … your cousins?” 

Jeff looks around. Two of them are, but Ray Jr. is Miss Eileen’s sister’s kid, who ain’t family, but who Mama owes a favor. Leelee is his maybe-half brother’s boy by his first wife, and the baby’s Drew’s, out of a woman who works for Lacey over at Cottontails, about whom mama just rolls her eyes and say _bless her heart._ But that seems awful complicated to explain. “Yep,” he says. 

“Oh.” Mike’s looking around the room like it’s all too much to take in. “I’m going to help my dad collect samples this afternoon. I came by to see if you wanted to come.” 

“Well. I can’t,” Jeff says, irritated. And Jeff’s been to Mike’s house – it’s all clean, and organized, and his mama had fresh flowers out on their table. Jeff tries to stand just such that Mike can’t see past him to see all the dishes piled up in the sink, and discreetly tries to kick the dirty laundry under the couch. 

“How long do you have to watch your cousins?” Mike seems oblivious to the fact that Jeff wants him to _leave._ Oblivious to his embarrassment. 

“’Till my Mama gets home.” Jeff reaches down to swipe Uncle Jack’s lighter off the coffee table before Leelee can grab it. 

“When’s your mom getting home?” 

_“When she gets home.”_

“Jeez. Sorry.” 

Jeff shrugs. 

“Do you,” Mike pauses, sounding uncertain. “Do you want a hand?” 

_“No.”_ God, no – Jeff does not need Mike to see him trying to cajole Ray Jr. into eating, or singing to the baby. Jeff would never live that down. 

“Okay, well.” Mike looks a little bit hurt, and Jeff can’t help but feel bad about that, but mostly he still wants him gone. “We’re going again next weekend, if you can come then.” 

 

 

Jeff starts asking on Tuesday, because it’s the first of the month, and his Mama will be in a good mood. He keeps the campaign up throughout the week. She finally sighs, and puts her hands on her hips, which is always a good sign. “What is it you’re all fired up to do on Saturday, anyway?” 

“I’m going help Mike and his dad with his experiments.” Jeff gives her his best, big-eyed look. “It’s, like, science and educational and stuff.” 

She holds his chin in her hand and shakes her head at him. “You sure you won’t be in the way?” 

“No, Mama. Mike said – ” 

“Oh, let the boy go,” his granddaddy interrupts. “It ain’t good for him to be stuck in the house, midst all these women and kids, anyway.” 

On Friday, Jeff tells Mike, “I can go with you, tomorrow.” 

Mike grins, all wide and toothy. _“Awesome.”_

 

 

Mike’s dad says, “I’m a student – just like you. I’m here to do my PhD research.” He says it funny: _ruh-SEARCH._ “I’m studying the effects of various contaminants in the water, like petroleum products.” He shrugs. “Oil.” He says _oil_ funny too, like it has two syllables. 

First they putt around Houston Bay and Clear Lake, in an aluminum jon boat, stopping in various coves, and Mike and Jeff take turns collecting jars of water. Only they’re not coves, they’re _monitoring stations._ And they’re not jars of water, they’re _samples._

Then they take their _samples_ back the _lab._ Which is a pristine room filled with sinks and oddly shaped pieces of glassware and a whole wall full of chemicals with names that Jeff can’t even begin to pronounce. Jeff’s always been a bit skittish of Mike’s dad, ever since that first day they met, but he can’t help but draw close as Mr. Richards explains what he’s doing. 

“I want to know if this compound,” and he holds up a glass – a _beaker_ – filled with a light blue liquid, “lowers the level of contaminants in the water. So we measure contamination before I add anything, and then we’ll do it again tomorrow.” He pauses, “Now to half of these I’m just going to add plain water. Do you know why?” 

Jeff’s got his head propped in his hands, staring into the samples. He can’t _see_ any contamination, but he knows enough to know that don’t mean it ain’t there. “Because you want to know if it’s something special about what you’re adding, or if you can just anything at all.” 

Mike’s dad is smiling at him. He looks sort of surprised. “That’s right, Jeff. That’s what we call a _control experiment.”_

He looks so pleased at Jeff’s answer that Jeff squirms in his seat, embarrassed. He don’t want to confess it’s something every shrimper knows: you want to bring down the level of endotoxin in your catch water samples, you just add clean water till you get down to the legal limit. 

After, Mike’s dad buys them ice cream from the Dairy Queen, and Jeff remembers to say _‘thank you, sir,’_ and he and Mike eat it riding home, in the back of his dad’s truck. 

 

 

By the time summer rolls around, Mike is Jeff’s _best_ friend. When he’s not working, or watching the kids, or getting hollered at by his Mama to do something, Jeff’s with Mike. 

Mike is full of dreams and plans. He wants to go to school – go to college. Or else play sports for a living, like on TV. Or maybe be a teacher at a university, like his daddy’s going to be. They’re lying out in the yard, watching the fireflies and sharing a warm coke. Mike asks him, “What do you want to do?” 

“Well,” Jeff considers. “Get out of Bay Cliff for a start.” 

Jeff’s become something of a fixture at Mike’s house. He’s over there for meals, and he can stay over, sometimes, because Mike’s got a trundle bed. And Jeff’s mama says it’s okay as long as he says _please_ and _thank you_ and _yes ma’am_ and _no sir,_ and as long as he’s home to do his chores. And they have Mike over too, because she says it ain’t fair for the Richards to be feeding Jeff _all_ the time. 

Jeff still gets a little embarrassed by how _loud_ everyone is, over at his place. And how dinner ain’t ever really much but rice and beans, but Mike seems to like it. 

They get their first real blow of the season in early August. Anybody who knows anything seen it coming a mile away – the way the air’s so thick and heavy you could swim through it, the heat lighting racing through the evening sky. Mike and Jeff are out fishing when the wind kicks up, and Jeff squints at the orange horizon line. “Best get home,” he says. “Gonna be weather.” 

They make it to Mike’s just as the first fat drops of rain are starting to come down. “There you are!” Mrs. Richards says. “I was worried.” And it ain’t nothing but a little wind and rain, but she’s laying out candles and flashlights like she thinks the end of the world’s coming. 

“I should hurry on home,” Jeff says, edging for the door. 

She looks at him, incredulous. “You can’t go out in this!” 

So Jeff calls his mama, and lets her know he’s staying here tonight. 

That night the wind howls around the house. The storm’s thumping tree branches up against the siding, making it hard to sleep. Jeff’s staring up at the ceiling when the whole room’s suddenly lit up by lighting, followed by a big ol’ crack of thunder. He hears Mike suck in a sudden, shaky breath. “Just weather, Mike,” he says. 

Mike’s shifting restlessly in his bed. The house groans loudly on its foundations, and Mike sits up. He’s looking down at Jeff, but Jeff can’t make out his face. Slowly, Mike pushes his blankets back, and then slides his way onto Jeff’s cot. Jeff holds up the sheet up for him. 

Mike reaches out, takes Jeff’s hand, and presses it flat against his chest, so Jeff can feel the way Mike’s heart is thumping away, fast and anxious. Jeff pulls him in till they’re pressed up close. “Nothing but weather, Mike. Sleep.” 

 

 

It ain’t like Jeff don’t know he’s different. The walls of their house are paper thin, which means Jeff can hear every word when his mama’s talking about worrying over him. About how, one day, trouble’s going to find him. It ain’t no secret – sometimes she holds his face in her hands, kisses his forehead, and says, “My little cuckoo. My little foundling.” 

So he’s strange. But Jeff don’t quite get _why_ or _how._ School’s part of it. He likes it too much, better at it than any Carter has a right to be, his Uncle says. But that’s not all of it, and Jeff can’t predict when something he says is going to make his sisters _look_ at each other across the room, eyebrows all raised, like they talking without saying a word. 

It ain’t how he looks – Jeff’s the spitting image of his daddy’s daddy. But as to what else it could be, Jeff really doesn’t know. 

The kids at school, though, they don’t mind pointing it out, neither. And Jeff starts to get an idea of what it’s all about when right when they tip over from middle school into high school, they stop calling him _weirdo,_ and start calling him _faggot._

Jeff don’t like it, and he’s not above throwing a punch or two when it gets too bad. But he don’t hate it near as much as Mike. They ain’t but three weeks into ninth grade when Mike bloodies somebody’s nose, blacks somebody’s eye – a sophomore, even. Mike stands over him, chest still heaving. “Say it again. Say it again – I dare you.” Which – the boy didn’t say nothing about Mike; he said it about _Jeff._

They both get their asses kicked a week later when that sophomore comes back with his friends, but Mike says he don’t care. 

 

 

They’re on the porch swing, watching the rain come down, and laughing – about what Jeff can’t even remember, when he glances up and sees his Mama frowning at him from the doorway. Jeff goes down the list quick: he did the laundry, the kitchen’s clean as it’s gonna get, he didn’t track mud in, or nothin’. His brother Ty says that when women frown for no reason it’s best to stay out of sight, so later, when Jeff goes inside to grab a coke, he says, “Mama, I’m going to go spend the night at Mike’s.” 

“No,” she says. 

Jeff’s brought up short. “I did all my chores. It ain’t a school night.” 

“I said no, boy.” She’s scrubbing one of her pans like it done something to her. 

Jeff turns around. Behind him, Mike’s hanging out in the doorway, looking embarrassed. Jeff shrugs. 

“I’ll see you later, Jeff,” he says, and takes off for home. 

The next time he asks, she says no again. “You’re too old to be doing that anymore.” 

_Too old?_

 

 

Just like that, Mike goes from someone his mama thinks is a _good influence_ to someone Jeff’s not supposed to see. Which is frustrating as all get-out, ‘cause she won’t tell him _why._

Jeff still sees Mike at school, but that’s hardly enough. You can’t talk much, in school, not unless you cut class, and Jeff’s not a good enough liar to get away with that for long. Mike’s quick, though – Mike’s tricky. “Can you sneak out at night?” he asks. 

Jeff can. 

He’s getting pretty good at it, too – easing past the squeaky spots in the floor, and he even oiled the hinges of the screen door, so that when he shuts it gently, gently behind him, it don’t make no sound. But he’s not expecting his oldest brother, Drew, to be sitting in the dark on the steps, though, and Jeff nearly jumps out of his skin when Drew says, “Hey. Where you sneakin’ off to?” And he grabs Jeff’s arm and pulls him down onto the step next to him. 

“Nowhere,” Jeff says, scowling. 

“Yeah, I spent a lot of time at _Nowhere,_ when I was your age.” Drew’s got a can of Pearl in his hand, and he tips the last of it down his throat, then pitches it out into the dark. He cracks another one, and after looking at Jeff a second, cracks one for him too. 

Jeff don’t want _beer._ Jeff wants to go meet up with Mike, who’s probably waiting on him, but it ain’t the kind of thing you can say no to. 

“What are you sneakin’ out to _do?”_

“Nothing.” That’s the truth. Mostly him and Mike just wander around, or sit and talk about nothing. Seems like that might raise more questions for Drew, though, than it would answer, so Jeff keeps his mouth shut. 

Drew launches into a long, rambling monologue about _responsibility,_ with vague allusions to being a man, and what that _means._ It’s a strange lecture coming from a man who ain’t home but once or twice a year, and don’t hardly ever send money back. Strange lecture for a man who’s got one baby on the ground that Jeff knows about, and god knows how many more back in Lafayette, where he says he been working at lately. 

Jeff sits through it quiet, though, because Drew’s his brother. His _eldest_ brother, and that’s all there is to it. 

 

 

That weekend it’s unseasonable hot – even for the Bay, and Jeff asks his mama if he can’t please go swimming. She frowns at him, but she’s sweating too, ‘cause the AC’s broke, _again,_ and as soon as Miss Eileen gets off work, they’re probably both headed into town anyway, to go walk around the new mall, which has central air, and is all full up with things they can’t buy. 

“Sure,” she says, after a minute. “But take your cousin Ricky with you.” 

Jeff rolls his eyes, because Ricky is six, which Jeff considers to be an age of maximum irritation, since it’s old enough to tattle on you, if you don’t do what you said you were gonna, but not old enough to reliably be able to reason with, or bribe into silence. Jeff makes sure to walk them past Mike’s house, though, because mama didn’t say nothing about how he was to get to the lake. 

He gets lucky, and Mikes sees them go past, and he comes tumbling out, falling in step with Jeff. They don’t say nothing, but they take turns kicking a rock down the sidewalk, and Mike looks over at him sideways, grinning. 

Jeff takes them to the lake side of the cut, because he prefers swimming in fresh water. No barnacles to watch out for. Jeff strips down to his shorts, and strips Ricky down to his, and asks him, “You want to jump in, off the dock? Or wade in slow?” 

“I want to jump in.” Mike’s smirking at him. 

“I know what you want,” Jeff tells him, and turns his attention back to Ricky. Ricky wants to be carried in, so he don’t have to touch the reeds and mud at the water’s edge. 

“If you just jump off the end, you don’t have to worry about all that mess,” Jeff chides. But Ricky just shakes his head. When it comes down to it, Jeff’s really a pushover, so he hefts Ricky up, carries him piggy-bag style into the water. “You’re getting too damn big for this.” 

Mike gets a running start, and takes a leap off the end of the dock, sending water up everywhere. Jeff shakes his head. They swim, and after a while, Mike takes Ricky from him, so Jeff can dive down as far as he can, down to where the water’s cooler, murky, and then come shooting back up like a porpoise. They both laugh at him. 

When Ricky’s exhausted himself, Jeff boosts him up, and he passes out, right on the dock, sleeping in the sun. 

Mike shakes his head side to side, spraying water, then he slices over to where Jeff’s treading water. “Your mom still doesn’t want you going out?” 

That’s what Jeff told him. Because it’s easier than saying Jeff’s mama don’t want him going out _with Mike._ “No.” 

“That sucks.” 

Jeff shrugs. Then he grins, and ducks Mike under the water’s surface. 

Mike comes up kicking and laughing, and he goes after Jeff, but Jeff’s helped by the fact that he’s tall enough, and a good enough swimmer, that he can pop up and grab the edge of the dock. So Jeff ends up hanging, with Mike clinging to him, and they’re so close, and Mike’s skin is cool and slippery under his free hand. Jeff gets this twist of heat, right in the pit of him. 

And he thinks: _Oh. This is why._

Mike’s looking at him, eyes all dark and intent, as if he knows _exactly_ what Jeff’s thinking. But he presses in closer, looking like he don’t mind. 

Up on the dock, Ricky wakes, starts crying, and rapidly escalates to wails in the face of his abandonment. 

Jeff squeezes his eyes shut, and he hears Mike let out a low groan of irritation. “Yeah, I’m here,” Jeff yells, and pops out from under the edge of the dock. 

Jeff walks Ricky home, sneakers slung around his neck, bare feet collecting dust and bits of grass. Mike pauses at the turnoff for his house. “I’ll see you at school,” he says. Jeff just nods. 

At home, Jeff sits out on the back porch. Light’s starting to go, sliding in all sideways. He hears the katydids kick in, and he’s just staring off at nothing, waiting for this tight, heavy thing in his chest to go away. Inside, he can hear his mama quizzing Ricky about their afternoon. “Where’d you go?” And, “did you have a good time?” And, “did you see any snakes?” Ricky’s laughing, and answering, and Jeff thinks he’s home free when he hears Ricky’s thump as he drops down off the sofa and heads running down the hall. But his footsteps pause, and he calls out in his childish lilt, “No, I didn’t see no snakes. But Mike caught a turtle.” 

“Shit,” Jeff mutters under his breath. His head falls back, and he’s studying the broken light fixture above him when his mama comes out. 

“Jeffrey Carter, what did I tell you about seeing that boy?” She got her arms crossed in front of her, and she sounds _pissed._

“He was just _there,_ Mama. He was just there at the same place we was, at the same time. We didn’t make no _plans.”_

“Don’t you lie to me, boy. You’re not too old to smack.” She’s just about yelling now. 

And it’s _worse,_ somehow, knowing what’s she’s thinking, knowing why she don’t want Jeff hanging around Mike. And knowing she’s _right._ Jeff’s heart’s fluttering madly up under his ribs. He’s _mad,_ all the sudden, he’s _pissed._ And if she wants to yell at him in front of god and the neighbors for doing _nothing,_ then he can yell right back. “I _ain’t_ lying,” he hollers. “And we didn’t do nothing! We just went swimming!” Jeff bites his lip hard. He may not be too old to smack, but he’s sure as hell too old to _cry._ “We were just swimming,” he repeats softer. 

She’s still just shaking her head at him. 

Jeff takes off. 

He winds up hiding away in the marina, makes himself a nest of canvas sailcloth, and spends the night listening to the boats bob up and down on the water. 

His mama don’t say nothing when he shows up for breakfast the next morning, just stands over him for a second while he’s seated at the table, presses her hand to his chest to push him back against her, and kisses the top of his head, hard. Then she slides an extra helping onto his plate. 

“Oh, _baby,”_ she says. And Jeff don’t say anything, because what is there to say to that? 

Then Darlene – because there’s no such thing as private business in _this_ house – says, “I don’t know why you’re so set on being friends with him, anyways. You know they just leaving soon.” 

Jeff frowns at her. “What do you mean?” 

“None of them researchers stay very long. They all got to go back to where they come from.” She tosses her hair. To listen to her you’d think Darlene knew everything there was to know about everything there is. Jeff scowls – but he ain’t gonna get anywhere yelling at her, not with all the help she gives mama ‘round the house. 

At school, Jeff leans up against the lockers, watches Mike stuff books into his bag. “Is your family leaving?” he blurts out. 

Mike freezes, then looks over at him, frowning. “What?” 

“My sister said that you and your family were going to leave soon.” He squints down at his shoes. 

Mike slams his locker shut. “Your sister’s full of it. We’re staying. We’re not going anywhere.” 

 

 

Jeff’s working at the marina, these days. Stocking, and gassing up boats, running errands, and generally keeping things afloat. Sometimes literally. It pays better, and there’s more downtime too. Sometimes Mike will just hang out with him, keep him company when it’s slow. Jeff’ll walk him home after. On this particular day, they hit the timing just right – or wrong – such that they run into Mike’s dad, just pulling his truck into the driveway. “Hey, Jeff!” he calls. 

“Evening, sir.” 

Mike’s dad is grinning wide. “Why don’t you join us for dinner tonight? Mike’s mom is making her special pot roast.” 

Jeff glances over at Mike, who shrugs. “I don’t know, sir.” 

“Oh come on – it’s a celebratory meal.” 

So Jeff calls the tide report line, and says, “Yes ma’am. Of course, ma’am. Thank you, mama,” to the automated recording. 

It’s good, too – or at least it is until Mr. Richards smiles at his wife, clears his throat, and says, “the reason I wanted to have this special dinner, is to announce that I’ve been offered a position at the University of Manitoba.” 

Mike’s mama brings her hand up to her mouth and starts crying, but, like, happy-crying, and she gets up to hug her husband. Jeff glances over at Mike. Mike’s staring down at the table. Finally, he looks up. “You said we were staying.” His voice is low, angry. 

“Mike.” Mr. Richards looks surprised. “I said no such thing. I said I thought we’d be here two years or so. It’s been longer than that, now.” 

_Two years and four months,_ thinks Jeff. 

“Mike, I thought you’d be excited.” This from his mama. “You’ll get to see all your old friends. You’ll get to play hockey again. You’re always talking about how you miss hockey.” 

Mike ain’t never said anything about missing hockey to _Jeff._

Mike’s lip is trembling, then all at once, he shoves back from the table and takes off upstairs. A door slams after him. 

After that, the pot roast is just a cold ball in Jeff’s stomach. 

There’s a moment of awkward silence at the table, then Jeff clears his throat. “Thank you for dinner. May I be excused?” 

Mr. Richards sighs. “Yes, of course Jeff. You’re welcome.” 

Jeff nods and stands up. As he’s pushing his chair in, he pauses, darts a glance up. “Congratulations, sir, on your new job.” 

When Jeff slinks on home, his mama says, “Where you been?” 

“Workin’,” Jeff lies easily. 

“You want me to warm something up for you?” 

Jeff shakes his head. “Naw, there was leftovers at the yacht club. The kitchen fed me.” 

She pauses in front of the sink to look him up and down. “Come here, baby. You look tired.” 

Jeff walks over to her, leans up against her, and lets her put her arms around him. He closes his eyes and rests his chin on her shoulder. The house is emptier these days. Jeff's brothers are back out fishing. Darlene’s moved in with her boyfriend. Mary Louise is god knows where. It’s just Jeff, his mama, and his granddaddy – but he’s asleep most of the time, anyway. And whatever kids needs watching. So it’s quiet when he puts his arms around his mother, quiet enough she can probably hear the way his breathing hitches. He buries his face in her neck. 

Mike ain’t at school the next day, and he don’t stop by the marina, neither. That night Jeff lies in bed, staring up at the blades of the fan. He tosses and turns till it’s clear to him he ain’t going to get no sleep. He sighs. Moving at quiet as he can, he gets his clothes back on and heads down the road to Mike’s. It takes him a minute to work up the nerve to throw the first piece of gravel up at Mike’s window. 

It don’t take but one or two, till Mike waves at him, and then comes down. “Hey,” Jeff says. 

Mike’s holding two beers that he clearly nicked from the fridge on the way out. He cracks one open, takes a sip, and then holds it out to Jeff. Jeff taste a sip. It’s cold. Bitter. 

Mike grabs his hand and tugs him out to the downslope part of the yard, where it’s all sheltered by oak trees, draped and heavy with Spanish moss. Mike takes a seat on the ground and pulls Jeff down next to him. They don’t say nothing, just pass the beer back and forth. After they polish off the second one, Mike reaches out and links his hand with Jeff’s, so that their fingers are intertwined. He’s got an odd look on his face – defiant and worried, all at once. 

Jeff looks down at their hands, their fingers sewn up like a zipper. He brings them up, and quite carefully kisses the back of Mike’s hand. Mike inhales, sharp and surprised, and then he slumps against Jeff, pressing his face into Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff tilts his head to lean against Mike’s, and they stay like that until the mockingbirds and the mourning doves kick in, and the sky starts to go gray, and Jeff has to go home. 

 

 

The fact that Mike’s leaving in a month makes them brave, or stupid. 

They cut class. Jeff skips work and almost gets fired for it. All so they can slip away – to Mike’s house, if his parents aren’t home, or to one of the move secluded waterways off the Bay if they are. Mike holds his hand, and they trade slow, careful kisses, and the whole time Jeff’s heart will be pounding out of his chest. 

Mike tastes like Dr. Pepper and lake water. 

That’s all they’ve done – until Mike’s parents go into town for dinner and a movie, and leave them the house. They got the TV on, but Jeff don’t even know what’s on, he’s so wrapped up in the way Mike’s mouth tastes under his, the way Mike’s panting, and biting at his lower lip. Mike’s been teasing him, slipping the tips of his fingers just inside Jeff’s shorts, running them along the inside of the waistband, so light it almost tickles. But then he presses his palm, firm and deliberate, up against the front of Jeff’s shorts. Jeff _hisses_ against his mouth. Mike’s rubbing now, and it’s all too much. Jeff groans and shakes, and Mike holds him till he stops trembling. 

 

 

Mike’s leaving on Saturday. 

On Friday night, Jeff sneaks out of his house and over to the Richards’. Mike comes down, but this time he grabs Jeff’s hand and very quietly leads him back upstairs. In his bedroom, Mike pulls off his t-shirt. Steps out of his shorts. He stands there, looking at Jeff, until Jeff does the same. Jeff climbs into bed with him. Lying in a real bed, both of the bare-ass naked, it feels like such a grown-up thing, an adult thing. Jeff kisses him, and then he runs his hands over him. Touches him everywhere, till Mike’s hips are moving, and Jeff has to put a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. Mike’s face twists up when he comes, like he’s in pain. Jeff knows why – it’s because it feels so good it hurts. 

The Richards’ drive by Jeff’s mama’s place on their way out of town, so that Mike can say goodbye. They don’t know Jeff only just snuck out of their place but a few hours ago. Jeff’s whole family is watching from the windows, so they just wave at each other, awkward-like. 

“You could write to me,” Jeff says. 

“I will,” Mike answers him. 

Mr. Richards shakes Jeff’s hand. He says, “You’re a real smart boy, son. If you work hard, you could get a scholarship. Go to college.” 

“Yes, sir,” Jeff says. “Thank you, sir.” Then they head off down Maudville Road, take a right to head towards the highway. And then they’re gone. 

 

 

Jeff don’t get no _scholarship._ He don’t go to _college._ And he don’t ever hear from Mike.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I messed around with chronology a bit, here. Don't work too hard trying to pin down the year!

 

 

_Country shit, that's all I see _That's all I know, that's all I feel _That's all I am, that's all I'll be._ __

_Let me tell you 'bout this super fly, dirty dirty, third coast, muddy water... _Let me tell you 'bout this country shit.__

 

 

Eleven years after he watched Mike’s car drive off, Jeff’s standing on what used to be the steps leading down to the marina. He squints and spits. They missed the worst of Katrina, and they weathered Rita, but now Ike’s gone and done what those two ladies couldn’t. He kicks over a piece of plywood. Jeff’s worked at this marina in some capacity for over a decade now. Lived there for the last five years. Managed the whole damn place for the last three. And now it ain’t nothing but splinters. 

He climbs carefully over the debris, looking for some sign of his life in wreckage – a book or a photo, some item of clothing, or maybe even a piece of dishware left miraculously whole. 

But there ain’t nothing. 

The air’s clean, and fresh like it always is after a storm, the sun shining down like the sky expects you to forget all about that weather nonsense it cooked up earlier. Jeff shakes his head, gets back in his truck, and drives back over to his mama’s house. The gas gauge reads perilous close to empty. When he gets there, he’s greeted by a shriek, and a tiny blond child throwing herself at him, like he been gone for days instead of just hours. Like they didn’t all spend the last week cooped up together in a Sugar Land motel room, waiting out the storm. “Uncle Jeff! Uncle Jeff!” 

He scoops her up. “Hey, Baby Girl.” And how Mary Louise produced something this vibrant and beautiful while she herself is so fucked up is one of life’s greater mysteries. “Where’s your Grandmama at?” 

Worrisomely, she points _up,_ towards the roof. 

Jeff frowns. His mama’s house is only _half_ knocked-down. And since they ain’t got nowhere else to go, and Jeff’s run out of money to keep them in the motel, they got to get that one half livable. Walking around back, he spies her up on the ladder. “Mama! Get down from there – I _said_ I’d do it.” 

She frowns at him, over her shoulder. “I know, but I figured I could get a start on it, before it gets dark.” Climbing down, she’s panting a little, out of breath. 

“Take her,” he says, and hands off Baby Girl. “Where’s Tash?” 

His mama throws her hands up. “I don’t know. Running wild.” 

“Here.” Tasha – Baby Girl’s older sister – swings down out of one of the still-standing trees. “I’m here.” 

Tash ain’t but eight, but she’s handy. “Run get me the toolbox out of the truck, and see what nails you can’t scrounge up.” 

Jeff turns back to his mama. “I said I’d do it.” He pointedly takes the ladder away from her. “And now I’m gonna do it.” 

Jeff gets the tarp up, and sets to work tacking up ply board so the neighbors can’t see straight into the house. “How’d the marina look?” his mama asks when she brings him out a glass of tea. 

“Don’t look any way at all.” Jeff presses the cool glass to his forehead. “Nothing there left to see.” 

His mama tuts at that, but she surveys his work approvingly. “You always were my favorite.” She pauses. “No, wait, Darlene _was_ my favorite. But then she got herself impregnated by a black man.” 

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Mama – quit.” 

“It’s true. He has _gold teeth_ – the whole top row.” She raises her eyebrows at him like she can’t quite believe what she’s saying, like this is _fresh_ news. 

“Yeah, well.” Jeff taps another piece into place. “At least he and his _gold teeth_ stuck around. That’s more than you can say for Drew.” Jeff’s brother Drew has _three_ kids, and Drew ain’t seen none of them since they was in diapers. Hell, Jeff’s not even sure where Drew _is._

She swats him. “Hush, you. Don’t talk bad about your brother.” 

“Oh, please. You were just talking shit on Darlene not two seconds ago.” 

She just tuts again. 

It’s getting on towards afternoon. “You got any food in the house?” 

“Hell, boy – what do you think?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Well, how many you expecting going to want to get fed tonight?” 

She frowns. “Well, you. Me. Tash and Baby Girl. Your brother, Ty, maybe – ” 

“Ty can’t feed himself?” 

His mama _looks_ at him. They both know Ty ain’t worked since the shrimp boats up and blew away. These days Ty pretty much _lives_ in the casino just over the border. Ty with money is like water in a sieve. “Your cousin Anna,” she continues, “and her three. Drew’s eldest. That may be it. Maybe more.” 

“Jesus, mama. Don’t anybody else in this family know how to cook?” 

Jeff drives to the grocery store on fumes. The route’s an exercise in deciphering the fickle hand of fate: the Wilson’s place is gone, the Belanger’s is gone, the Dubois’ is half gone. The Cryer’s is standing all by its lonesome, conspicuous among the scattered debris. 

The H.E.B. is all knocked to hell, the parking lot a twisted nest of downed power lines, but the Safeway is still open. 

Ain’t much on the shelves, though. The place smells vaguely of mildew and rings with the hum of generators. His card won’t go through, which ain’t a shock given that he’s been going into the red every month for the last few, even before their stay in Sugar Land. The cashier stands there and watches him write out a check they both _know_ is going to bounce, but she’s a Blodel, and they been in Bay Cliff just as long as the Carters have. “Thanks, Tammy,” he says, and then Jeff has to run out of there before he about dies from embarrassment. 

He’s got some cash in his pocket, but he needs gas, and diesel for the generator, and a barrel of Clorox, and drywall – and they ain’t going to take his check at the Home Depot. 

The money don’t go far, not with what they charging for gas these days. 

And if that weren’t enough, Jeff comes home to find Franks’ truck sitting in the drive. When he walks in, Frank’s stretched out on Jeff’s mama’s sofa, feet up and beer in hand. “Hey, Jeff,” he says, all friendly-like. 

“What the hell is _he_ doing here?” Jeff yells toward the kitchen. 

“Hey, hey, no need to get angry.” Frank stands up to face him. Franks’ got rotten teeth and twitchy hands, and he’s part of the new industry that’s replacing shrimping in Bay Cliff. 

His mama and Mary Louise appear in the kitchen doorway, his mama all flushed like they been arguing again. “I ain’t sittin’ at a table with her,” Jeff warns his mama. 

“We ain’t _stayin’,”_ Mary Louise says, haughty like she got somewhere to _be._ “Come say bye-bye to your mama, girls.” Tasha looks sullen, but Baby Girl throws herself at her mother. And it pisses Jeff off that Mary Louise’ll just waltz in and out of here, stopping by when she wants something, not giving a damn that she leaves her babies crying when she goes. At least the little one. “Go kiss your Uncle Frank goodbye.” Baby Girl’s too little to argue, but Tash hates Frank something fierce, and she flees out the back door. Under normal circumstances, Jeff would whoop her for being rude, but he can’t quite find it in him to disagree with her actions, seeing as how hating Frank is a sentiment Jeff shares. 

 

 

Jeff strips drywall all the next day. It’s hot, and dirty, but it ain’t like it occupies his mind, which means he’s got plenty of time to think. Mostly about how they don’t have no money. There’s gas in the truck, but they need diesel. Need money for the bills. Money to buy more bleach, so the house don’t rot out from under them. And Jeff’s seen how all the pill bottles floating around his mama’s bathroom are empty, so he needs money for that too. And food. 

Jeff would kill for a beer. But that’s sort of a luxury right now, and anything cold doubly so. 

They been slipping – the whole town been slipping – since 2005, when Katrina took most of the shrimping industry, and Rita took what was left. Now Ike’s taken the oyster beds. Drew’s contributions to the household had been the first to dry up, then Ty’s. And his mama’s survivor benefits are meant for _her,_ not for her and Mary Louise’s kids and however many cousins’ hanging around this month, hands out and lookin’ to get fed. Even with Jeff’s paycheck, they been pushing up against the edge, _hard._

This storm came at a bad time. 

At night, Jeff lies on his mama’s couch, and listens to the sounds of the house settling all around him, and thinks, _how the hell am I going to make this work?_

By the end of the week, Jeff’s mama’s down to passing off stock and rice as soup. 

Jeff drops by Mr. Whitney’s house that afternoon. Mr. Whitney may have lost his marina, but his house seems to have weathered the storm. “Hey, Jeff,” he says, when he comes to the door. 

“Sir.” And Jeff – quite literally – has come with his hat in hand. “Sir, I came to see if I could get an advance against my next paycheck. We’re running thin at home.” 

Mr. Whitney sighs, and he leans up against his doorpost. “You’ve worked for me – how long now?” 

“Since I was fifteen, sir.” 

Mr. Whitney’s eyes wandering all over the yard, down across the paving stones on the walk. He nods absently. “You’ve always done a good job.” It’s his voice that gives it away, really. Jeff could turn around and walk away now, ‘cause it’s clear he ain’t going to be none the richer for staying. Mr. Whitney brings one hand up to rub across his sunburned neck. “I’m not going to rebuild the marina, Jeff. I can’t. Traffic’s been down, demand is down – half the slips are empty, the other half are behind on rent.” 

He ain’t telling Jeff anything he don’t already know. 

Mr. Whitney squints up at him. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

 

 

Jeff spends the rest of the afternoon walking around town, seeing if there’s anybody willing to pay him to do _anything._ But it ain’t like anybody else in this town has any money, neither. And the row of nice houses, up in Seabrook – ain’t nobody in them to ask. Jeff gets home and is met by Tasha. “I’m hungry,” she says. 

_Christ,_ Jeff’s head hurts. “Have leftovers.” He squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Can’t.” 

Jeff opens his eyes to look at her. “Can’t?” 

Tash shakes her head. “Mama and her friends took’em.” 

Jeff is going to kill Mary Louise. He takes his hands away from his temples. “Are you shitting me?” he snaps. 

Tash draws back, skittish. “No, sir.” 

Jeff sighs, and runs his hand over her head on his way into the kitchen. “I ain’t mad at you, Tash.” But sure enough the fridge is empty. “Goddammit.” 

He calls Darlene. “Can you feed mama and the girls tonight?” 

“Jeff,” she says, “I’m running _real_ thin over here. Can’t you take them to the church?” 

“Church ain’t got enough to feed those that actually bother to show up to service; they sure as hell don’t have enough for us.” Jeff rubs the back of his neck. “Come on, Darlene, just tonight. Mary Louise fucked us.” 

“Mmmhmm.” But she sighs. “Fine, I’ll make it work tonight – but I don’t like cleaning up her messes, Jeff.” 

“Shit,” Jeff says, after he hangs up. “Shit, shit, shit.” 

That night, Jeff takes his truck up to one of the nicer streets in Seabrook, picks out one of the more secluded houses that nobody’s come back to yet, and parks out front. 

He stands in front of it, feeling like a grave robber. “I’m sorry,” he says to nobody in particular, then strips the place of copper. 

Denis, who runs the recycling yard, just looks at him, and lifts one of his big, white eyebrows. “Do I even want to know?” 

“Shut up Denis,” Jeff says, scowling. “Kids gotta eat.” 

“Boy, you the last Carter standing on his own two feet. You get arrested, your whole family’s fucked. You think on that.” But he pays Jeff for the copper anyways. 

Jeff does think about that. He thinks about that a lot. Especially when Frank offers him $200 to store _something_ on his mama’s property. _“Hell_ no,” Jeff says. 

“Alright, I’m just saying. Two hundred bucks could come in awful handy.” He smiles at Jeff, showing off that useless, wasted mouth. “And your sister says hi, by the way.” 

“I said _no.”_ Jeff ain’t moving from this doorway, not till Frank’s in his truck and gone. “And you can shut right up about my _sister.”_

 

 

That night somebody makes off with the generator. 

When it’s getting light, and it’s first clear what’s happened, his mama holds up her hands. “Now, baby - ” she says, but Jeff just blows right past her, shaking his head, stiff and angry. 

It don’t take but two minutes to drive to Frank’s, but it’s a whole different world, anyways. It smells like shit, for one. There’s a group of men sitting on the porch steps of the house across the street. One of them eyes him as Jeff steps out of his truck, tips a bottle up to his lips. Jeff rolls his eyes; evacuation order ain’t been lifted for more than 24 hours now, and this crowd already back, hard at work. Popping up like mushrooms after rain. 

There’s a busted child’s bike sitting in the front lawn, spokes bent and rusted through. Jeff takes a moment to hope it blew in from somewhere far away from here. This ain’t no neighborhood for kids. He stands in the yard and calls out, “Mary Louise!” 

And she does have the nerve to come on out of the house, he’ll give her that much. She’s just standing there, though, with her arms folded. “Where the _fuck_ is mama’s generator?” Jeff demands. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She’s staring back at him, all angry, like she got nothing to hide, like he can’t see her shivering, even though the mercury’s already hit upwards of ninety, and it ain’t even eight o’clock yet. 

_It ain’t even eight-o-fucking-clock yet._

“You not just stealing from your mama, you’re stealing from your _own kids._ What the hell is wrong with you?” And he’s so angry he just wants to _shake_ her. Just shake out of her whatever demons have climbed inside and taken hold. “You’re the worst fucking piece of white trash I have _ever_ seen.” 

Mary Louise’s _cryin’_ now. And Jeff’s heart could almost, _almost_ break again, except that Frank comes out of the house, and she clings to _him._ Puts her arms around _him._

“What the fuck do you want, Jeff Carter?” Franks wraps his arm around Mary Louise. Like he’s a good _family_ man. “Your mama’s generator ain’t here.” 

Jeff don’t have any problem believing that’s true. That generator _long_ gone, now. “Don’t come back over there,” he says. “Don’t you dare set foot over there.” 

“Or _what?”_ Frank asks. “What you going to do?” 

“I’ll fucking kill you,” Jeff says, easy, cold. _“That’s_ what I’ll do.” 

And shit, now Jeff needs to buy ice. 

 

 

Copper money ain’t going to last. The rest of them still-empty houses been stripped by like-minded, enterprising souls. And there ain’t nobody in this town who can afford to pay him to do shit. 

Jeff spends his days ripping down rotten walls, and filling the back of his truck with shit to take the dump. Jeff spends his nights staring up at the ceiling above his mama’s couch. Jeff needs a fucking _job._ Jeff needs fucking _money._ And he’d strike out for Houston, or Austin maybe – except that lying there in the quiet he can hear the rough sounds of his mama’s breathing. Her lungs filling up with water, on account, the doctor says, of her weak heart. And Jeff can hear the girls in the next room, and the way Tash mutters sometimes, like she arguing something in her sleep. 

The fuck happens to them if he leaves and _don’t_ find work? 

Jeff’s starting to think that $200 from Frank sounds like _a lot_ of money. 

It ain’t pride that’s keeping him from asking for help – he’s asked everyone he can think of. He’s signed them up for every government program he can find. But that shit is slow to kick in, and he don’t know anybody with money. 

Well. That’s not quite true. 

About a year ago, Jeff was over at his cousin Cody’s. At the time, Cody was working installing cable TV hookups, and as such, he had every TV channel known to man in his own house. Jeff was over there, listening to Cody run on about how great it was. But really, Jeff thought, they just had channel after channel of shit nobody want to watch. Still, it was impressive, though, that they got whole TV channels dedicated to _scrapbooking_ or _Taiwan._ And about the time Cody handed him the remote, and wandered out of the room to go grab two more cold ones, Jeff stumbled over a whole channel dedicated to _hockey._

It weren’t just any hockey, neither. It were Mike Richards, on TV, giving a tour of his house to a black man. And it was all Jeff could do to sit back and listen, listen to the way his voice sounded now, study the way he looked, all grown up. 

Mike Richards’ apparently done quite well for himself, as his house was all fancy – with a _hot tub,_ and a _fireplace,_ and a whole room dedicated to keeping his trophies in. It left Jeff tight through the chest, wound up, although for quite what reason he couldn’t say. 

Cody had walked back in then, passed him a beer, and said, “You watching one them house hunters shows?” 

Jeff had just shaken his head, and switched back over to the Taiwanese lady, who was gibbering out the news to those who could understand her. 

He ain’t thought about it much in the last year. It ain’t exactly relevant to trying to keep his family afloat. And way down this way, it ain’t hard to avoid news of _hockey._

But now, Jeff keeps thinking about Mike Richards, and how he done so well. 

Jeff rips out another chuck of rotten plaster. 

 

 

When he starts to lose the light, Jeff heads on over to Cottontails, and it’s as sure a sign as any that god don’t send the weather, that Ike took the roof off the church, but Cottontails still standing, all but unscathed. 

“Hey, Sugar. Where you been?” Lacey asks him. Lacey’s been _around_ and says she likes him ‘cause he’s a _gentlemen,_ and although they both know what that means, she kind enough not to call him out on it. 

“Ripping shit down, mostly.” Jeff slides into a place at the bar. 

“Yeah, I heard about the marina. I’m sorry honey – you want a beer?” 

“Can’t pay you for it.” 

“Well take it anyway.” She pats his hand. “And tell me what’s on your mind.” 

Jeff tips the bottle towards her, grateful. “Came to see if I could use your internet.” 

“Yeah, it’s still up. You come on back, you can use the office computer.” 

He takes his beer with him, sets it down on the stack of receipts on the desk. He waits till she leaves, then taps in Mike Richards’ name to the search bar. 

One of the very first things that comes up, is that Mike Richards’ making 6.6 million this year. 

Jeff takes a long pull of his beer. 

He scrounges up a paper and pen. Even though he’s working on an empty stomach, and as such, that one beer’s going straight to his head, it still takes him three tries to work up the nerve to put pen to paper. He keeps starting, and then breaking off with the worst sense of a fiery, burning _shame._

But even if his family never been rich, Jeff weren’t ever _hungry_ growing up. And he’ll be damned if he’s going to be the first Carter to preside over that. If he’s not going to try every last damned thing he can think of to prevent that. He thinks of his mama’s house, half falling down. Thinks of Tasha standing in front of that empty fridge. 

_Dear Mr. Richards,_ he finally writes. _You may not remember me, but we were friends when your family lived in Bay Cliff, Texas..._

When he finishes, Jeff scrawls his number at the bottom. He sends it Mike care of the _Los Angeles Kings,_ and tries not to think nothing more about it. 

 

 

When the phone call first come in, it come up as a blocked number, so Jeff ignores it, because _blocked number_ might as well be an announcement: bill collector calling. 

He checks his voicemail though, because it’s always worth knowing how much they want from him this time. 

The voicemail starts with someone clearing their throat, and Jeff knows right then, even before he says anything, that it’s Mike. “I’m trying to reach Jeff Carter,” Mike says. “Jeff, if this is you, you can reach me at…” and he rattles off his number. 

Jeff’s mama is sitting just across the room, and she’s _watching_ him, like she already knows something is up. Jeff takes his phone into the back yard to make the call, but even then, he spends a good long few moments staring into space before he can dial. 

Mike picks up quick. “Hello?” 

The first time Jeff tries to say something, it don’t work. Finally, he gets out, “Mr. Richards? This is Jeff Carter.” 

Mike exhales, long and slow. “For fuck’s sake, Jeff, call me Mike.” 

“Mike,” Jeff says. There’s a curl of nausea in his stomach he’s trying to ignore. 

There’s a beat of silence on the other end. “I got your letter.” 

Thought of that letter makes Jeff want to crawl under a rock and disappear. He swallows. 

“I’m glad you wrote, Jeff. I want to help.” 

Jeff has to sit down, and he finds himself a spot right on a pile of scrap, facing away from the house. His throat’s working, and for a minute, they both just breathe at each other. “Thank you, Mike. I – ” 

“I can get on a plane… I can be down there the day after tomorrow.” 

_A plane?_ Jeff looks back over his shoulder at his mama’s house – at the tarp, and the trash in the yard, and he winces. “Shit, Mike – you don’t need to fly all the way down here.” 

“You’re asking me for money, and you’re going to tell me I can’t even come visit?” 

Jeff freezes, stung. 

“Jeff – ” 

“No, of course not.” Jeff grits out. “You’re always welcome here.” 

“Okay. Well. I’ll text you – can you text?” Mike sounds suddenly unsure. 

Jeff rolls his eyes, and lets some of that old irritation creep back into his voice. “Yeah, Mike. We have _texting_ down in Texas.” Besides, he paid the phone bill _before_ the storm. 

There’s a sound that’s almost, but not quite a chuckle. Like maybe Mike is smiling. “Okay. I’ll text you my flight info, alright?” 

 

 

Mike’s coming in on a Wednesday, and that morning, mama packs up the girls to go to Miss Eileen’s, because all the ladies on the block getting together to pool their resources and cook. Cook and _talk,_ that is. Jeff imagines that if gossip were electricity then Miss Eileen’s could turn the lights back on up and down the whole gulf coast. 

Jeff is still hauling shit away – tree branches and broken bits of fiberglass and the chewed up remnants of a thousand of his closest neighbor’s lives. It’s depressing work. It gets more depressing when Ty shows up. 

He pulls his hat off, and he says, “Hey, Brother.” At which point, Jeff knows _exactly_ what’s gonna come out of his mouth next. 

“I ain’t got no money,” Jeff says, preemptive, and Ty scowls at him. 

“Why you assume that’s what I’m here about?” 

Jeff crooks an eyebrow. “Well it is, ain’t it?” 

“I know you were working, before the storm,” Ty starts. 

“And now I _ain’t.”_ Jeff can’t help but start to let some of his consternation show. 

“What’s the matter? You already spend all your savings? You spend it on your trips to _Houston?”_ Ty’s voice getting mean, too. 

And what Jeff does on his occasional solo forays into Houston is none of Ty’s goddamn business. Anyway, he ain’t had the time or the gas money to go in forever now. Jeff glares. “Get on outta here Ty. I told you, I don’t got money.” 

He slinks off, and Jeff heads back to working, but it ain’t long before there’s someone else watching him. “Tash. What are you doing back here? You’re supposed to be helping your grandmama cook.” 

She squishes her face up. “I don’t like cooking. I’d rather help you.” 

Jeff shakes his head. He pities the man whose job it’s gonna be to keep Tash in the kitchen. “Well, girl. Grab some gloves.” 

She lasts longer than he thinks she’s going to, with the sun beating down. But soon enough she’s spending more time in the puddles than bagging debris. Jeff can’t help but smile at it a little bit: house and yard all ripped to hell and she’s playin’ in it oblivious, making boats out of siding, building castles out of stray shingle. He’s working round back when she come racing round the side yard. “Uncle Jeff! There’s company.” 

And she wouldn’t say _company_ if she knew who it was that’s calling. Jeff walks around front, and sure enough, there’s Mike Richards, standing next to his rental car, looking around like he ain’t sure he got the right place. 

“Hey, Mike.” 

Mike pushes his sunglasses back on top of his head and blinks. “Jeff. Hey.” 

Mike’s looking at him, and Jeff scrubs a hand across the back of his neck. They must be quite the picture, he thinks. Himself all covered with plaster dust, and a mud-spattered child clinging to his leg. Right out of _National Geographic._ He gives Tash a shove. “This Mr. Richards, honey. Go introduce yourself.” 

Tash don’t like men she don’t know – and there’s another reason to want to string his sister up by her neck – but she stumbles forward anyway. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Richards.” She shakes his hand and squints up at him. 

“Nice to meet you, too,” Mike says. And, for a second it looks like he’s going to say something else, but she’s already twisting away, scampering back towards the porch. 

“Go fix us some tea, honey,” Jeff calls out absently. Mike watches her go, then he looks back over at Jeff. Jeff offers his hand, and Mike shakes it, and maybe he holds on just a beat too long. 

Or maybe Jeff imagines that part. _Simple,_ he thinks. Mike’s just an old friend, who’s in a position to help. Better to keep everything _simple._

Mike looks out of place, somehow even just in jeans and a t-shirt, he looks off. Maybe it’s the shiny rental car he’s standing next to, or the fact that his boots don’t have no mud on them. Maybe it’s just the way he’s holding himself, tight and careful, like he thinks everything around him is made out of spun glass. 

He shows Mike his mama’s house – the tore up roof, the porch collapsing in on itself. The walls that are going to have to be ripped out and redone. Then they pile in the truck, which for once in its life don’t embarrass him, and starts right up. Tash hops into the back, ducking down like he ain’t gonna notice. He frowns at her, but she just gives him a tiny, shy smile, and what the hell, they ain’t going far. Jeff takes them by the marina – points out where the new dry dock had gone in, in 2009, and how it all gone now. They drive down Maudville, so Mike can see the trees pitched hither and thither, the road a mess of slick green leaves, like they ain’t had the sense to die yet. 

Mike has him slow down as they roll past the school. He laughs a little, shakes his head. “Looks smaller than I remember.” He points at the goalpost on the football field, leaning drunkenly to one side. “What do you want to bet that’s the first thing they fix?” 

Jeff snorts. “I’d be a fool to take that bet.” He takes Mike down Edgewater, so he can see what’s left of the place his family stayed in. 

“Holy shit,” Mike says. “Can we get out? Walk around?” 

Jeff obliges, watches Mike poke around, and Tash skipping and walking the toppled flag pole like a balance beam. “Weren’t nobody living there,” he tells Mike. “Ain’t been for years.” 

Tash is holding her arms out, one foot going in front of the other in careful heel-to-toe steps. She goes up on her toes to pivot, turn around, and she’s clearly far away, walking the beam in front of thousands. Maybe winning medals. When she reaches the far end, Jeff whistles and claps. Tash shoots him an embarrassed look, face all scrunched and cheeks pink. But she’s grinning, and when he walks by her, she holds onto his hand to take an exaggerated step down. 

Mike’s watching them with this look that reminds Jeff of the smirk he wore as a kid, but maybe time’s mellowed him some, because it seems softer now. 

Jeff clears his throat and starting talking about the town, and the fishing boats, and the oyster beds, and how they all gone. Mike nods the whole time, and he asks questions, too. But it still feels like there’s a silence hanging between them, like the air’s all full up with what they’re not talking about. 

His mama’s car’s back by the time they pull into the drive. Jeff drums his fingers across the top of the steering wheel. “So there’s the building supplies for the house, dumpster fees, gas, bills.” Jeff swallows. “So, really, if I could get a thousand dollars, it’d go a long way toward getting us back on our feet.” He makes himself look over at Mike. “I’d pay you back.” 

Mike’s shaking his head a little. “Jeff, a thousand’s not going to cover all that.” 

Jeff looks down at his hands. “Put a dent in it. Be gas money to drive out somewhere and look for work.” 

“And groceries? And what if somebody gets sick?” 

And, yeah, these same thoughts been keeping Jeff up nights – don’t make them any easier to hear out loud. “I’ll make it work.” 

Mike’s frowning at him, but then he’s digging his checkbook out. Jeff has to look away while he’s filling it out, signing his name to it. “Here.” He’s holding it out to Jeff. 

Jeff takes it and he starts to put it away, but he does glance at it, quick. He has to, and that glance brings him up short. “Mike. Mike, I can’t – ” 

He’s trying to give it back, but Mike’s pushing it back towards him. “Jeff, take it, please. I can afford to do this, so let me do this.” 

Jeff stares at it. Mike’s written him out a check for ten thousand dollars.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

_We crossed the wild Pecos,  
 _We forded the Nueces,  
 _We swum the Guadalupe,  
 _And we followed the Brazos.____

_Red River runs rusty,  
 _The Wichita clear,  
 _But down by the Brazos  
 _I courted my dear.____

 

 

It’s hard for Jeff to imagine _anybody_ who could just write a check like this. Just hand it off, like it weren’t nothing of importance. Much less somebody that he used to _know._

How could Mike do this and not even _blink?_ Who gives that sort of money to someone they knew _eleven_ years ago – even if they did – 

Even if they did do the things they did. Even if they did have whatever the hell it was they had. 

Jeff holds the check in his hand, rubs the paper between his fingers. He wants to be able to say no, desperately wants the luxury of being able to say _thank you, but never mind._ But. “It’s… it’s going to take me a long time to pay this back.” 

“I don’t care.” Mike’s looking at him again. That fierce look on his face, the same one he wore as a kid. Jeff remembers that look. 

Jeff swallows. He nods towards the house. “Mama’ll have dinner.” 

Mike glances over. “I – ” He trails off, shakes his head before looking away. “I’m… exhausted, and the closest hotel I could find’s half an hour from here, I should check in, before it gets too late.” 

Jeff nods. 

“What time are you starting tomorrow, though?” 

Jeff blinks. “Gets light around six.” 

“Six. Okay. I’ll be here.” Mike smiles at him, just a little. “Goodnight, Jeff.” Then he gets in his rental car, and drives off. 

Jeff blows out a _long_ breath. 

 

 

Mike shows up at six on the dot the next morning. He brings coffee and doughnuts from Shipley’s – which makes him the second coming of Santa Claus in the kids’ eyes. Fortunately, he brings a whole box, ‘cause mama’s kitchen is swarming this morning. 

“Uh-uh.” Jeff swats at a reaching hand. He’s got Baby Girl draped across his shoulder, still mostly asleep, and he’s trying to maintain order, one-handed, without having to put his coffee down. “What do you say?” 

“Uncle Jeff, can I have a doughnut, please?” Trey’s one of Drew’s. 

“They ain’t my doughnuts, boy.” 

Trey spins around; he’s gives Mike his biggest, saddest eyes. “Mr. Richards, may I _please_ have a doughnut?” And Jeff smirks, because it didn’t take this bunch two seconds to find out they could walk all over Mike. 

“Sure,” Mike says. “Of course.” Mike’s been watching him move about the kitchen, and he looks less tired than yesterday. He’s got a crooked half-smile on his face as he watches Jeff swat hands, and tote Baby Girl, maneuver around his mama in the kitchen, and refill coffee mugs. Jeff’s not doing anything _special,_ but Mike’s watching him anyway. 

Jeff’s mama is watching both of them from her spot in the kitchen. She knows why Mike Richards’ here. Why he’s in her kitchen. And she knows _Jeff,_ too, and she keeps shooting him _looks._ Jeff keeps looking back, trying to make his face say, _it’s fine,_ and, _mind your own business,_ and, _I have got this under control._

His mama lifts one very skeptical eyebrow. 

If Mike notices their exchange, he don’t let on. 

He and Mike rip down the porch, and strip out the rest of the rotten drywall. They make a trip to the bank, and then to Home Depot, and then Jeff spends the afternoon showing him how after a storm, you gotta just spray all your hardwood down with Clorox, and cross your fingers, and pray. 

They work in the quiet, mostly, ‘til he and Mike need to crawl up under the house to check for rot. “Point the light over there,” Jeff instructs. 

“Where?” 

Jeff turns to point again, and Mike catches him full in the face with the beam. Jeff winces and squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Sorry.” The light clicks off. 

Jeff glares at him, eyes still watering. _“There,”_ he says, and points again. 

There’s a piece of drainage pipe that’s been washed up under there, wedged between two boards. Jeff takes a swing at knocking it free. It doesn’t move. 

“Can I be doing something else to help?” Mike asks. 

“Just – ” Jeff bites back a good, long string of swears. “Just, keep an eye out for snakes, will you?” 

_“Snakes?”_

Jeff takes another whack, and the pipe finally comes lose – sending a small torrent of muddy water down onto Mike as it tips. 

Jeff winces and looks over. Mike spits a couple time, lips curled in distaste. “Jeff Carter,” he says finally. “You take me to the nicest places.” 

Jeff snickers. When Mike looks over at him, mud splattered and irritated, it turns into a full blown laugh. And then they’re both cackling madly, ‘til Jeff has _tears_ rolling down his face, and Mike can’t hardly catch his breath. 

They both still giggling when they finally climb out of there, and Jeff would try to find a more dignified word for it – but that’s what it is. 

Tash looks at them real skeptical. “What’s so funny?” she asks. 

“Honey, I can’t even.” Jeff shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.” 

She folds her arms across her chest and glares. 

 

 

He makes it up to Tasha by taking her on a shopping run with them. She sits between them, pressed up close along Jeff’s side. “How long’s it take to get to California?” she asks Jeff. 

“Why don’t you ask Mike? He’s sitting right there. He’s the one who’s been.” 

She glances over, giving him a sharp, assessing look. “How long’s it take to get to California?” Jeff elbows her. “Sir,” she adds. 

Mike smiles, just a little. “By plane? About three or four hours. But actually, I flew down from Canada.” 

“Canada?” She sounds openly skeptical now. 

Jeff grins. “Mike’s been all over.” 

That assessing look is back. “You been to San Antonio?” 

Mike shakes his head. “Well, no. Not San Antonio.” 

“Austin?” 

Another shake. 

“El Paso?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Jeff can see Mike’s working to keep a straight face. 

“Dallas?” 

“Oh, yeah.” He nods. “I’ve _definitely_ been to Dallas.” 

Tash digests this for a minute. “That ain’t very many places,” she pronounces finally. 

“There cities outside of Texas, honey.” 

Tash just shrugs like she could give a damn about that, and goes back to drawing in the dust on Jeff’s dash. 

On the way back, Mike asks, “So when do you think you’ll get power back?” 

And Mike never did ask but two types of questions – those where the answer should be obvious, and those that Jeff’s got no way of answering at all. But there’s an HL&P truck at the corner up ahead, so Jeff slows up the truck, rolls down his window, and calls out, “Hey, Ted.” 

Ted comes off whatever he’s working on and leans on the door of Jeff’s truck. “Hey, Jeff, Miss Tasha.” He touches the brim of his hat to Mike, frowning a little before turning back to Jeff. “How’s your mama?” 

Jeff tips his head. “She’s fine, she’s fine. How’s Suzanne and the girls?” 

“Good. They up in Beaumont, staying with her mother.” 

“Sounds like a better place to be than here.” 

“Yep.” 

Jeff cranes his head out to look at the crew Ted’s got working up in the cherry picker. “What’s the prognosis, Ted?” 

“For your mama’s house?” He squints off at the horizon line. “Be about a week.” 

“A week?” Jeff frowns. “Damn, Ted. You boys must be working two, three hours a day. You best pace yourselves, y’all gonna wear yourselves out.” 

Ted rolls his eyes. “Hey, now. Ease up, ease up. Storm brought down a whole mess of lines.” 

Jeff smiles. “Thanks, Ted.” He rolls up his window, turns to Mike, and says, “Power be on in about two weeks.” 

Mike’s face is blank for a beat, then it splits open in a grin. 

Jeff grins a little, too, down at the steering wheel. “Don’t ever trust a southern man, when he tells you how long something gonna take.” 

Tash snorts, and Jeff gives her ponytail a light tug. 

“I’ll remember that.” There’s still a smile curling the corner of Mike’s mouth. “Now what was that you were telling me earlier about how quick we were going to finish those walls?” 

Jeff looks at him, over the top of Tash’s head, and for a second they just grin at each other. 

When they finish for the day, Jeff says, “I think you’d best have dinner with us tonight. Or else mama’ll be offended.” 

Mike hesitates. “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.” 

He’s looking at Jeff like he thinks there’s a possibility he would be. Jeff shakes his head. “Not an intrusion, Mike.” 

Once inside, Mike takes his time looking around. Jeff starts to say something about the shit piled up against the walls, the tacked up ply board, the pans set out to catch drips, but he swallows it back. It is what it is. Mike stops in front of a picture of Jeff and his siblings as kids, all piled in the yard and grinning. Mike touches the picture, careful, because the glass is cracked. “My parents have a picture of you and me, from when we lived here. You’re wearing that exact same shirt in it.” 

Jeff remembers that. He remembers being sunburned, and the weight of Mike’s arm thrown over his shoulder. 

Mike looks up at him, his expression curious, but then his eyes slide over to the shotgun propped in the corner. “You just leave that sitting out?” 

Jeff raises an eyebrow. “That little bitty old thing? That’s just grandma’s shotgun.” He takes pity on Mike, who’s frowning at him skeptical. “Trigger’s locked.” 

Mike grins and shakes his head. “I thought down here guns were for the menfolk?” 

Jeff’s mama laughs out loud at that. “Yeah, well, Jeff’s daddy did have the nice one – twelve gauge. Walnut. Scrollwork.” 

“Where’s that one?” Mike asks. 

His mama hesitates and looks at Jeff. 

“Hocked it,” Jeff says, and changes the subject. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Not about the gun, or how nice it was. Not about the look on the man at the pawn shop’s face when Jeff placed it on the counter, like he knew exactly how close to the edge you had to be to give something like that up. 

 

 

His mama and the ladies made gumbo, and she ladles it over rice. Dinner is more reserved than usual, with the kids asking careful, polite questions about California and Canada, and hockey, although it’s hard for Mike to explain the game, seeing as how they ain’t never been on a sheet of ice. Ty just looks at Mike sullen and suspicious, like it’s not Mike’s money that’s putting food on table and rebuilding the roof over their heads. But at least he don’t say nothing. 

Afterwards, Jeff asks, “You up for a beer?” He takes Mike to Cottontails, which causes Mike’s eyebrows to reach up towards his hairline. 

“You spend a lot of time at strip clubs?” Mike asks. 

Jeff pitches him an irritated look. “Small town, Mike. Limited drinking options.” But when they walk through the door, and get hit with that wave of AC, Mike sighs audibly and closes his eyes. 

Sweat’s curled the hair framing his face and down at the nape of his neck. He opens his eyes and looks at Jeff. “I forgot how hot it gets here.” 

They sit at the bar, and take a round of beers to just sit and cool off. The girls know to leave Jeff alone, and after Jeff waves off the first one to approach Mike, they know to leave him alone, too. Jeff’s half-watching the Astros flail about the ball field, and half-watching Mike press the beer bottle to his temple. There’s a trickle of condensate sliding its way down the side of his face, and Mike’s throat works when he takes a drink of his beer. 

It’s distracting. 

Mike’s frowning down at the bar, and for a moment it’s clear that don’t neither of them have a clue what to say. 

Jeff coughs. “You hear the one about the Bay Cliff man who went to hell?” 

Mike glances over and shakes his head. 

“Bay Cliff man dies and goes to hell. Everybody else bitching and moaning, but the Bay Cliff man looks happy. The devil says, ‘what’s the matter with you, boy? What you look so happy for?’ Bay Cliff man says, ‘this place is just like Bay Cliff in July – I love it.’” 

Jeff pauses, takes a pull off his beer. “Devil says, ‘I know what’ll fix you.’ And he turns the thermostat up as far as it’ll go, and turns the humidity up, too. But when he comes back, that Bay Cliff man looks happier than ever. ‘This is just like Bay Cliff in August. Just like home.’ So the devil says, ‘I got it, I got it,’ and he turns that thermostat all the way down past zero, till there ice everywhere, and big fat snowflakes are falling down outta the sky. But now when he comes back, the Bay Cliff man is jumping in the air and waving his hat around. ‘What in the hell are you so happy for now?’ he asks, and the Bay Cliff man hollers back, ‘the Astros have won the pennant! Astros won the pennant!’” 

Mike chuckles just a little, dry. 

“Yeah,” Jeff says. “It’s an old one.” 

It breaks the ice, though, because Mike says, “How’d you find me, anyway?” 

“Shit, Mike. I just looked you up on the internet.” 

Mike drops his head into his hand, looking embarrassed. “Oh, _jeez.”_

“What?” Jeff asks. 

“Nothing, it’s just.” Mike thumbs at the corner of the label on his beer bottle. “Nothing.” 

“Well, actually,” Jeff confesses, “I saw you on TV first.” And he tells Mike all about seeing him give of tour of his house. 

Mike shakes his head. “You must think I’m such a rich asshole.” 

Jeff frowns. “I don’t think you’re an asshole.” 

Mike looks thoughtful, like he himself is undecided on the matter. “What were you doing? Before the storm, I mean.” 

Jeff turns his gaze back up to the ballgame. “Working. At the marina.” 

“Seriously?” Mike sounds surprised. “The same one you worked at as a kid?” 

Jeff scowls a little and shrugs. So what if he was? “I – ” And maybe it’s judgment on Mike’s face, or maybe that’s Jeff’s own paranoia, but even if Jeff’s never quite fit in here, at least he knows what to expect. It’s probably better – it _has_ to be better – than not quite fitting in somewhere else. “Yeah.” 

Mike’s watching the ballgame too, and he just nods at that. After a second he looks back at Jeff. “So. Do you have a girlfriend?” 

Jeff has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. “No, Mike. I don’t have a _girlfriend.”_

“I just thought maybe… that little blond girl. She looks _just_ like you.” 

_Oh._ Jeff shakes his head. “Baby Girl? No. She’s by the line of Who the Hell Knows, out of Mary Louise. I don’t have any kids. I’m not really the _type.”_

Mike just nods at that, so Jeff asks. “What about you? You have a girlfriend? Kids?” 

Mike shakes his head. “No. I guess I’m not really the type either.” He’s rolling the neck of his beer bottle between his fingers, then his hand stills, and he looks at Jeff, right in the eye. “Do you want to come back to my hotel room with me?” 

Jeff ain’t hardly breathing. _Simple,_ he thinks, _you’re supposed to keep this simple._ But really, the question of whether or not this was going to happen seems silly, when it’s suddenly clear to Jeff that he himself hasn’t been doing anything but counting the minutes ‘til it was gonna. “Yeah.” 

Jeff follows Mike down the highway, and he parks his truck round back, where there’s half a prayer not everybody in the county is going to see it tomorrow morning. And he don’t get but a step inside Mike’s room, before Mike backs him up against the door. Mike’s holding himself still, and his eyes are searching all over Jeff’s face. 

“Well?” Jeff asks. 

Mike’s pushy; he kisses like he’s launching into something. And he’s all grown up – all filled out and hard muscle under Jeff’s hands. 

He smiles at Jeff, after, lazy and sated. And Jeff runs his hands over him, fingers pausing to trace the edges of the tattoo on Mike’s shoulder. Mike sighs, stretching out under Jeff’s touch. “When I was eighteen. For my birthday,” he says, as though Jeff had asked the question out loud. When Jeff touches the one on his back, “My first NHL goal. I was twenty.” His voice is soft and sleepy. Content. 

He rolls onto his side, catches Jeff’s hand. “You’ll stay, won’t you?” And when he falls asleep, he does it tucked up next to Jeff, one arm slung around his middle. 

Jeff wakes in the middle of the night, and maybe it’s dark and the quiet that woke him. It’s not like mama’s – with noises and lights, family murmuring in the next room, or headlights turning down the drive. Jeff sits up, and Mike stirs next to him. He can’t see Mike’s face, but he can make out the planes and angles of his body. Jeff runs his hand down the length of his side. 

Next to him, Mike sighs, and reaches out. 

 

 

In the morning, it takes them several tries to get presentable, and get out the door, with Jeff so easily sidetracked by the sight of Mike in towel, and Mike needing to press him up against the walls at every opportunity. 

His mama gives him a _look_ when they come in, but she don’t say nothing. _Thank Christ._

 

 

By the end of the week, they’ve made good progress on the walls. And the roof’s starting to look like a roof again. 

Mike crawls down off the roof and collapses in an exaggerated heap, right in the grass in the shade of the house. There’s a deep V of sweat marking the front and back of his shirt. “Oh my god, how do you deal with this? This heat is ridiculous.” He covers his eyes with an arm. 

As Jeff climbs down, Tash walks up to stand over Mike. “Uncle Jeff, is he dead?” 

Mike groans. 

“Yes, honey,” Jeff answers her. “We finally defeated the North.” Mike keeps his eyes covered, but he’s smiling. Jeff pats Tash on the back, but she squirms past him and sprints for the house. 

She’s back in a minute though, holding a glass of tea out to Mike. “Here.” 

Mike takes his arm off his face. When he catches sight of the glass, he sits up. “Oh, _nice._ Thanks.” 

Tash scampers off, shy. 

“That’s right,” Jeff says. “We can be gracious in victory, as well.” 

Mike’s arms are dangling between his legs. He grins. 

 

 

Mike’s starting to look comfortable, sitting at Jeff’s mama’s kitchen table. Maybe too comfortable, because he’s just watching Jeff and his mama as they work around each other, sidestepping kids and making dinner in an easy and long-established dance. “Here,” Jeff says, and deposits Baby Girl on Mike’s lap. “Hold this.” 

Mike glances up at him, looking startled and honestly sort of dismayed. He holds her awkwardly under her arms. 

Baby Girl makes an immediate grab for the sunglasses perched on top of Mike’s head. 

Jeff smirks. 

But he gets her settled, eventually, and when Jeff looks over at them again, she’s balanced in his lap, busy pushing all the buttons on Mike’s watch. 

Mike runs his finger over the shell of her ear. “What’s her name?” 

Jeff’s mama is smiling at them, soft. “Tanya,” she says. Then she smacks Jeff lightly with her dishrag, shaking her head. 

Jeff smiles down into the pot of greens he’s stirring. 

 

 

They’ve been skipping the bar, lately, and heading straight back to Mike’s. 

And there’s a moment, when Mike is rocking against him – he has his hands on Jeff, and Jeff’s soaking up that touch – that Mike smiles at him, like he’s just so pleased Jeff could feel this good. And it hits him that Mike doesn’t think he’s _strange,_ doesn’t wish he were some other way. He doesn’t smile to his face, but shake his head behind Jeff’s back. 

Mike’s still just the boy who picked Jeff out of the crowd. Decided they were going to be friends. 

Jeff’s scrabbling for leverage, and Mike pauses to re-adjust and slides his hand up to Jeff’s face. Mike wants to touch him. Mike wants to be close to him. And maybe Jeff hasn’t been quite honest with himself about how badly he wants that. The feeling’s not unlike being cracked open; it wells up inside him, and Jeff is suddenly made up of all raw, bleeding edges. 

He comes shaking and trembling, with Mike wrapped around him, panting against his mouth as he follows. 

 

 

The morning the heat finally breaks and there’s rain pattering on the hotel windows, Mike curls around him, and says, “I wish I didn’t have to leave today.” 

Jeff don’t say anything. The way he’s holding onto Mike, he don’t need to. 

Mike touches his face, strokes along the side of Jeff’s neck. “Camp starts in a couple days.” 

Jeff sighs. “You’ll be busy, huh?” 

Mike nods. “Yeah. But, you could come with.” He says it low, serious. 

Jeff shrugs a little. “Too much to do here. I got people to take care of.” 

Mike’s still running his hands over Jeff’s face. “You never did leave.” He pauses. “Why not?” 

“Tash was born when I was seventeen. Weren’t ever the right time.” 

Mike’s frowning. “C’mon, Jeff. That’s a cop out. You told me you were going to get out of here. It can’t have been easy – ” Mike trails off, and just gestures between them. At the fact that they’re _naked._ In a bed. “Being, you know – ” 

“Yeah, Mike, I _know.”_

“So?” 

Jeff rolls away, onto his back. “I _do_ like it here. The people I _love_ are here. And the people here, mostly they don’t care, if I’m quiet about it, and some of them don’t care at all, and the ones who do – ” 

“The ones who do?” Mike prompts. 

Jeff looks up at the ceiling. “I know who they are. It’s easier than… not knowing, not knowing if someone hates me because…” Jeff shrugs. 

“Because you’re _gay.”_ He says it sharp, like he’s making a point. 

Jeff glances over, irritated. “Oh, and I suppose everyone on your hockey team knows you’re _gay?_ You fly a rainbow flag outside your house? You tell everyone?” 

“I would.” Mike’s looking at him steadily. “I would if I had a reason to.” 

Jeff swallows, shakes his head. “I _know_ this place. I know the people here, and they know me. And it’s – ” He’s thinking about the stretch of the water, the sounds it makes lapping up against the docks, the broad, flat rush of the land up to meet it. “It’s beautiful here.” 

“It is.” Mike agrees. He runs a hand over Jeff’s chest. “No one’s saying you’d have to leave forever. You could visit me.” 

Jeff stays quiet, because they both know that ain’t likely. 

Mike sighs. “I’ll call you.” 

Jeff smiles, but he isn’t really sure how likely that is, either. 

 

 

But a couple days later, Jeff gets a text: _paying for all those biscuits I ate at camp weigh-in :)_

Jeff snaps a picture of the pan the next time his mama makes them, and sends it Mike. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, suspicious. 

“Nothing,” he answers her, feeling ridiculous and about 15 years old, all over again. 

_tease,_ Mike sends back. 

He hears from Mike sporadically over the next few weeks, never anything serious, always light-hearted. And Jeff may be a small-town boy, but he’s worldly enough to know when he’s being _flirted_ with. 

Late one night, Mike sends, _thinking about you._

Jeff rolls to sit upright on the couch. _so call._

_can't. on the bus._

And Jeff’s already blushing, but he manages to type out, _tell me what you’re thinking._

What he sends after makes Jeff’s eyebrow climb up into his hair. “Jesus.” And he has to go find a part of the house with a door that closes and locks. 

 

 

Mike calls him in October, when things are finally, finally starting to settle. “Hey,” Jeff says. “How are things?” 

“Eh, we’re 3-1-1. Not great, but not bad. Blew St. Louis out of the water, though, so there’s that.” Mike pauses. “But – hey I was calling to ask if you’re working anywhere yet?” 

_The money,_ is the first thing Jeff thinks. And that thought sets up a cold, tight grip on Jeff’s chest, because he hasn’t even started paying Mike back yet. “Mike, I – ” 

“It’s not – I’m not asking about the money,” Mike says, all in a rush. “It’s just, one of my friends out here runs a sport-fishing business, and he’s looking for help.” 

Jeff leans up against the porch railing. “Not a whole lot of similarities between shrimping and sport-fishing, I don’t think.” 

“He’s not – it’s just really basic stuff. He just needs somebody reliable. Somebody who works hard.” 

Jeff looks around. California sounds awful far away. His heart beats a little faster just at the thought. “I don’t know, Mike.” 

“They’re doing a week long charter. It’d be $1500 for a week’s work. That’s more than you’d make in Bay Cliff.” 

Yeah. Mike’s got that right. Still, “Cost me half that to fly out there.” 

“I’ll fly you out here – ” 

_“Mike – ”_

“No, listen. I have about a billion frequent flyer miles just sitting there. It wouldn’t cost me anything. Besides,” Mike’s voice gets lower, rougher, “I want to see you.” 

And Jeff is a _grown man._ It’s plain ridiculous that Mike can make him blush like this, make his heart turn over in his chest. “I’ll think about it,” Jeff says. 

“Think quick.” 

 

 

Jeff says, “I’ll just be gone a week.” 

Jeff’s mama’s sliding the dishes back into their homes in the cabinet. She pauses, and looks at him. She seems tired, but there’s just a hint of smile in the lines around her mouth. The light’s coming in, and hitting off the silver in her hair, and all of the sudden Jeff’s so full up of love for her that he can’t hardly breathe, that it threatens to overflow in the form of tears, and his throat goes tight. “No you won’t,” she says. “But go anyway.” 

 

 

Mike picks him up, driving a big, black SUV, and they wind their way through the streets of LA making small talk about Jeff’s flight, and the weather, and Mike’s upcoming schedule. About nothing, really. 

When they pause at a stoplight, Jeff reaches over and runs his thumb over Mike’s jaw. Mike breathes in, quick, and looks over at him and then he sets his hand on Jeff’s leg, and leaves it there. They don’t talk much after that. 

Mike pulls into his garage, and he leans forward and turns the car off with slow, deliberate motions. He sits back against the seat, and he’s still, except for the rise and fall of his chest. They both sit there for a second, listening to the engine tick in the quiet. And then Mike turns and looks over at him again. 

They damn near fuck in Mike’s _car._

They do, eventually, make it upstairs, and Mike lays him out across his bed, his hands moving restlessly over Jeff. “I really want to fuck you,” Mike murmurs against his mouth. “Can I fuck you?” 

Jeff nods, because he’s panting too hard to answer any other way. 

 

 

Mike drops him at the dock the next day, and Jeff tracks down the boat and the Captain he is to work for. It’s simple work, really – scrapping the hull, gassing the boat. Stocking ice and keeping shit clean. In fact, Jeff notices that on the other boats, the people doing his job appear to be mostly teenage boys, running about with their collars popped up, in brightly colored plastic sunglasses. Then they head out on a five day cruise, and Jeff learns that _sport-fishing_ seems to be a euphemism for rich people drinking on a boat, poles locked into the railing, and swinging gently untended in the breeze. But at the end of it, a woman who’s consumed more champagne than Jeff previously thought humanly possible, slides two hundred dollar bills into his back pocket, and says, “This is for your _adorable_ accent.” 

The Captain cuts him a check too, says he’s pleased with Jeff’s work. “We’re doing this again next week – we’d love to have you back.” 

Jeff’s got less in common with either of them than he does with the men he waits in line with at the Western Union, who are all Mexican, and stand a good head and half shorter than him. But, they’re all pulling photos out of their wallets. Passing them around and pointing. “Roberto,” the man in front of him says, picking out a face in a photo of group of brown-eyed children hanging off each other. “Tito. Gina. Dora.” Jeff gets that. 

When he calls his mama, she says, “We’re fine here, baby. You do whatever you feel is best.” 

 

 

His weeks fall into an easy rhythm. One day of prep work, then five days on the boat, then one day of cleanup. Every fourth week he picks up and flies back to Bay Cliff, sees his mama and the girls, makes sure the money he’s sending back is getting used like it’s supposed to, and just breathes the gulf air, lets the familiarity wash over him. Settle him. And that’s how October slides into November; November over on into December. 

When he’s in L.A., and not on the boat, he stays at Mike’s. His nights off don’t always line up with nights Mike is home, but he says he doesn’t mind. “I like the thought of you being there,” he says. “Besides, you can keep an eye on the dog.” Mike has an elaborate color-coded calendar on his fridge, with game days in one color, practices in another, and travel days in a third. Days Jeff is scheduled to be around, he’s scrawled in, _Jeff home._

Nights Mike is home, he tells Jeff stories about hockey. Laughs when Jeff tells stories about his rich, inept clients learning how to fish. Burns his fingers stealing bits of Jeff’s cooking before it’s ready. Runs his hands over Jeff when they’re sitting on the couch. Goes to bed with Jeff at night. Wakes up next to him in the morning. 

 

 

The Captain notices Jeff knows how to read a nav chart, knows how to work the sonar, because Jeff may be the very worst Carter to ever work a boat, but he is a _Carter,_ after all. That used to mean something. So his work gets broader, most interesting, and California, or at least this small piece of it, stops feeling quite so foreign. It isn’t without fits and starts though. 

On Tuesday, Jeff’s hanging off the stern, elbow deep in cold, Pacific water, trying to figure out why the prop isn’t turning. 

“Prop isn’t turning because it’s _broke,”_ David says. David does a multitude of things onboard, but mostly he’s in charge of teaching their passengers how to fish. He’s black as sin, almost as tall as Jeff, and possessing of patience that Jeff finds borders on saintly. 

Jeff frowns down at the water, because that ain’t hardly helpful. “Boy, get back in the wheelhouse and put that thing in reverse. See if she’ll spin that way.” 

They aren’t far out, and Jeff does get the damn thing working well enough for them to limp back into port. But after they’ve refunded their passengers their money and sent them on their way, David reaches out and grips him, right between his neck and shoulder. Hard. “Don’t ever call me _‘boy,’”_ he says. “My name is David.” 

He looking at Jeff, cool and steady. Jeff swallows. “Yeah. David. Sure.” 

David nods. “We cool?” 

When Jeff nods, he smiles and lets go. Claps him on the shoulder. “Good.” 

 

 

Mike looks up in surprise when Jeff walks in. “Hey. What are you doing back?” 

“Cracked stern tube,” Jeff says. “Had to order the part. Boat’s not going anywhere for a couple days.” 

“Oh.” Mike’s sitting at the counter, eating what appears to be a very plain bowl of chicken and pasta. 

Jeff gives it a skeptical look. “You sure you don’t want some gravy, or something to go with that?” 

Mike shakes his head, smiling. He sets his fork down, though, face going all thoughtful. “Do you… do you want to come to the game tonight?” 

Jeff’s never seen Mike play. “Sure.” 

Mike grins broadly. “Oh – and I was supposed to go out with the guys after. You should come.” 

This seems slightly more concerning. “I don’t know, Mike.” 

“Come on, we’re not going anywhere crazy. It’ll be fun.” 

Mike drops him at L.A. Live, because he has to at the arena early, giving Jeff some time to kill before the game. He wanders around, amazed by the sheer number of people decked out in Kings gear. Seeing people in Mike’s jersey makes him shake his head at the absurdity of it all. He finally stops in the pavilion out front, looks up at the bronze statue of Wayne Gretzky, California sunshine glinting off his shoulders. _Hockey. Huh._

 

 

The first thing Drew Doughty says to him is, “Oh, snap – listen to you! You’re going to get so laid tonight.” Jeff shoots a look over at Mike. 

Mike rolls his eyes, and slaps Doughty upside the head – the gesture looking almost like instinct. But after that, he gets a little frown, a twitch of anxiety on his face. When he notices Jeff looking, he carefully smoothes out his features. Smiles. 

Jeff is used to being a sort of novelty item, at this point, but it does get a little irritating when the waitress sets their sushi down in front of them, and Doughty and Stoll are watching him eagerly, like he might pitch a fit, or something. 

If they think a boy from the _Bay_ is going to be intimidated by a little raw seafood and rice, Jeff thinks, well, they got another thing coming. “Try the green stuff,” Lewis says. 

Jeff stares at them blankly across the table and thinks about informing them that _sushi_ has already infiltrated Texas. Instead he just sighs and slathers the roll down with wasabi. 

“Oh, shit – did you see that? He just killed that wasabi.” Doughty elbows the guy next to him. 

Jeff is actually sort of relieved he finally found somewhere in L.A. that serves food with real _heat._ “This is nothing. You should have seen Mike’s face the first time my mama fed him her devil shrimp.” 

Mike leans back next to him. Under the table, his leg is pressed against Jeff’s. “Oh my god, I remember that. I thought I was going to die. And _you – ”_ He looks at Jeff, “ – you just _laughed.”_

“Well.” Jeff shrugs. “You were _crying.”_

They’re out at a bar after that. “Shit,” Lewis says, when they get there. “Ricky already gets more ass than a toilet seat. With you on his wing, this bar better watch out.” 

Jeff glances over at Mike. Mike just looks away, the line of his jaw going tight. 

Jeff sips on his beer slow – they’re expensive, out here. And flirts with women at the bar, because he knows he’s supposed to. 

It's not hard. “Say _y’all,”_ she says, leaning towards him, displaying cleavage that would be most impressive, Jeff imagines, if he were the type of man to appreciate that sort of thing. 

“Y’all,” Jeff repeats dutifully. 

“Say, _I’m fixin’ to.”_

Jeff smiles. “I’m fixin’ to buy you another drink. What would you like, darlin’?” 

She giggles drunkenly. 

It’s a careful balance he’s supposed to strike – not so much that he really leads them on, but enough to look like he’s trying. But maybe he’s fallen too far one way or the other, because Mike’s been agitated since they got here, prowling about the place, one minute flirting aggressively with a girl on the other side of the bar, the next abandoning her to go fling back shots with Doughty and Lewis. The tight look of irritation never quite leaving his face. 

And now he leans abruptly between Jeff and the girl at the bar. “He’s not a fucking _parrot.”_

She draws back, startled. Mike turns his back to her. “Come on,” he tells Jeff. “We need to go home.” 

During the cab ride back he sits silent, next to Jeff, gaze fixed pointedly out the window, watching the city roll by. Fingers drumming restlessly on his leg. He doesn’t ever really look at Jeff, till they’re standing in his kitchen, at home. “I haven’t been fucking around. Since you got here, I mean.” He pulls a bottle of water out the fridge and shrugs. “As much.” 

Jeff frowns. Picking his words carefully, he says, “I haven’t asked you to.” 

“I _know,_ I just – ” Mike sets his water down hard enough to bounce the cap free. He’s still not looking at Jeff; his eyes shift restlessly over everything else in the room. “I like having you here. I like having your stupid food in my fridge. I like having your stupid, ugly hat sitting on my counter. I like listening to how you get all extra _southern_ when you talk to your mom.” 

Jeff frowns, because none of what Mike’s saying seems to justify how angry he sounds. Jeff’s phone starts buzzing. He ignores it. 

“I like it, okay? I like it, and I want to settle down, and I want a family _one day,_ but – ” He throws his hands up and looks at Jeff helplessly. 

“But, what?” Jeff asks. 

“But I didn’t think it would be so soon. And I’m freaking out.” 

Jeff grins a little; he can’t help it. 

Mike’s hands drop. He deflates. “So just let me have my freak out, okay?” 

“Sure, Mike.” Jeff gestures for him to continue. “Whatever you need.” 

Mike smiles at him. Shakes his head. “Jeff Carter. I fucking hate you right now, you know that, right? And answer your goddamn phone.” 

They’re just grinning at each other again, stupid. But Jeff checks his phone, and he can feel that smile slide off his face, because it’s Darlene calling, and shit, it must be near three in the morning in Texas. 

“Jeff,” she says. “You better come home.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you to [Kelfin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelfin/) for stepping in and helping me out at the eleventh hour. And again, to [empathapathique](http://archiveofourown.org/users/empathapathique) for going so far above and beyond normal "beta" duty, that I'm pretty sure it's just called "being an awesome friend"
> 
> Extended notes at the end.

 

 

_It's been far too long._  
 _So what if I got no money in my pockets._  
 _I'll always stand up strong,  
 _'Cause I'm in the city where I belong.__  


 

 

Jeff flies home on Saturday. 

 

 

Jeff’s mama dies on Wednesday. 

Miss Eileen from across the way covers all the mirrors and stops all the clocks. 

 

 

For a few hours, the house is very, very quiet. 

Daylight brings a steady stream of ladies to Jeff’s mama’s kitchen, who stock the fridge, air the linens, who murmur about _what a wonderful lady Maryanne was._ They pat his hand in a gesture he can’t feel and put food in front of him that he can’t taste. 

Jeff nods at their lined faces and squeezes their hands when he’s supposed to. Skin cool, and paper smooth, bones and knuckles prominent, pressing up like all the hills and ridges east Texas don’t have. Jeff sits next to Ty, who’s staring fixed into the middle distance, and Darlene, who keeps absently smoothing out her skirt. If he tunes out those murmuring voices, Jeff can hear the kids, who have been chased outside, laughing in the mild winter sunshine. Jeff has to sign papers and hospital bills. Jeff has to call the funeral home. Jeff has to go to Sears to buy a suit. 

“Do you want – ” the salesman starts to ask. 

And there’s a question. Something about buttons, or fabric, or color, but Jeff can’t hear him, can’t make those words make sense. “It’s for my mama,” he says, instead. And the salesman must be a good southern boy, because he just nods, and doesn’t ask Jeff nothing more. 

The girls go to stay at Darlene’s. The house gets very quiet again. 

On the phone, Mike says, “I’m so sorry, Jeff. I wish I could be there. I’m _so_ sorry.” 

 

 

Jeff carries the coffin with his brother Ty, and his Uncles, and Darlene’s boyfriend. It’s a nice day, the day they bury her. Jeff can see the bay from the cemetery. Someone’s out on the water in a Viper, conducting a speed trial. The wind is filling the sail, pushing it out, so firm and steady it’s hard to imagine it could have any other shape; blue and white signal flag snapping out behind them. 

There’s a string of pelicans drifting overhead, ancient and odd-looking, like a brand of dinosaur too lazy to die out. Jeff follows them until they cross in front of the sun, and his eyes water. 

Afterwards, Jeff stands with Darlene and Ty, and a long string of people shake his hand. Touch his face. Their lips are moving when they do, but Jeff can’t hear what they’re saying. 

Mary Louise stands on the steps outside and chain smokes her Marlboro Reds. Jeff can see her pacing, her image broken up and refracted every time she passes in front of the glass panes in the door. 

Can’t nobody track down Drew. 

Tasha and Baby Girl are sitting directly across from him. They’re in matching navy dresses, still starched and stiff. Tash is leaning back, her hair loose and spilling out across the crocheted lace cover atop the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. There tear tracks coming down the side of her face, but her hands are folded in her lap, still. Baby Girl is restless. She twists sideways, humming to herself, grabs for the mints on the table, pretty pastel colors in a thick-cut crystal bowl. 

“Shh,” Darlene scolds. She moves the mints further away. “Knock it off, darlin’.” 

Baby Girl frowns. “I _want – ”_ she starts, sudden and sharp and _loud_ in a hushed room. 

Jeff grabs her. 

Outside the sunshine lights up her hair. Jeff walks her around the yard. Lets her point out the flowers. The trees. A stray tomcat walking the tops of the fence posts, feet moving quick – momentum half the work of balance. Elephant ears and hibiscus. The smell of damp green things growing and dying. If he holds her close, he can feel her tiny heart thumping away, the unexpected and compact strength in the way she twists and points after that cat, the tiny jumping pulse in her wrist. 

 

 

That night, the temperature drops, and the fog presses in. The truck’s headlights carve out just a few feet in front of them. Ty’s driving, and he leans forward, cocked over the steering wheel, eyes squinting like it’ll help him see. Jeff leans back and closes his eyes. He don’t need to see. _Ty_ don’t need to see. Ty knows these roads. Ty could tell you how far off they are by what pothole they hit. By where the asphalt gives way to concrete, concrete to oyster shell. 

Ty’s quiet, but when he gets to the spot in the road where Jeff, all of two days after getting his driver’s license, drove the truck off the road and got it half-wedged in the canal, he slows down. Stops and lets the truck idle in the street. He don’t say nothing, but the corner of his mouth turns up. 

Jeff snorts and smacks his arm. Ty puts the truck back in gear. 

When they pull up to the seawall, Cody’s truck’s already there, and there’s a passel of cousins perched round it. Jeff’s uncle passes him a bottle of Jack. “Drink up, boy,” he says. “Drink for your mother.” The other side of the seawall is a mess of rocks covered in slick, green algae, graffitied over with white barnacles. When he finishes, Jeff flings the bottle as high and as far as he can out onto the gray water. 

Someone must have dropped him home, because Jeff is stumbling across his mama’s front yard. He trips going up the steps, and nearly face plants. Jeff sits down, right on the dew covered porch, dizzy. He bats at the screen door till it opens for him, collapses inward into the house. It’s only two staggering steps to the couch. And, he don’t exactly remember calling, but suddenly he is speaking to Mike. “I am _very_ drunk,” he tells Mike. 

“That sounds pretty reasonable.” Mike sounds far away. 

“You’re very far away,” Jeff says. “I love you.” 

_“Jeff – ”_

There’s spots of dampness on his shirt, and something drips off his face. “I’m not supposed to be crying,” Jeff says. 

There’s a pause. “Your mom died, Jeff. I’m pretty sure you can cry as much as you want.” 

Jeff shakes his head. “She didn’t always know what to do with me. But she _tried.”_

He wakes with a crick in his neck and an enormous hangover. He is on his mama’s couch, and his mama is still dead. Jeff closes his eyes again. 

 

 

He don’t get a lot of time to wallow, though. Darlene’s over soon enough, with her kids and the girls. She’s got her youngest in her arms, all dark curls and big, brown eyes. Ty drags himself over, too. She makes coffee for them and tuts over their greenish complexions. “Well, I hope you’re sober now, because we need to talk.” 

Jeff presses the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Talk about what?” 

“What we’re going to do with the house, for one.” Darlene’s busy plating up one of the casseroles that endless stream of ladies left. Cutting it to pieces with smooth, efficient motions. 

Just the sight of food is making Jeff’s stomach turn. “What do you mean, ‘what we’re going to do with the house’?” 

Darlene sighs and sets down her knife. “What I mean, Jeff, is that we’re going to sell it.” 

Jeff looks up sharply. “Like hell we are.” 

“Jeff. What else are we going to do?” She sighs and pushes her hair back, lookin’ at him like he’s still five years old and about to do something stupid, then she turns and aims her judgment at their brother. “Ty, will you say _somethin’_ please?” 

Ty shrugs. “Sure as hell could use the money. Plus, you _know_ Mary Louise wants to sell.” 

Jeff grips his mug tightly. “I don’t really think Mary Louise should get a vote. And if you need money so bad, how ‘bout you get a _job?”_

Ty glowers at him. “Oh, yeah? You mean like you have out in _California?_ Tell me, Jeff, how much does he pay you each time he – ” 

Jeff slams his coffee down on the counter, steps up to him – 

“Dammit.” Darlene turns to Ty, points her finger into his face. “Shut it, Ty.” Then, she turns on Jeff. “And _you,_ back off.” 

“We ain’t selling the house,” Jeff mutters. “It’s _mama’s_ house.” 

“Yeah, but she’s _dead.”_ Ty swallows like what’s he’s just said took even him by surprise, and the words just hang in the air. 

Darlene sighs. “Jeff, you don’t even live here no more. You’re making a life for yourself out in California, and that’s _good.”_

Jeff shakes his head. “What about the girls? Where they supposed to go?” 

She pokes at the casserole, fork chasing a piece of carrot around the plate. “John and I’ll take them, I guess.” 

“Then you should move in here,” Jeff says. “Give you more space than you got at your place.” 

None of them are eating, and Darlene finally sets her fork aside. “I got a job. Up in Fort Worth.” She clears her throat and looks up at Jeff. “Insurance. Benefits. John’s got family up that way.” 

Jeff folds his arms. “So you’re leavin’ then?” 

“Jeff, there ain’t no reason to _stay.”_

“Girls just lost their grandmother, and you’re just going to rip them up. Set them down in _Fort Worth?”_ There’s some heat seeping into his voice. 

“Jeff, that ain’t _fair._ We _all_ lost her, and they’re kids, they’ll get over it.” She getting pissed now, too. “It’s just a shitty, old house – ” 

“It’s a _nice_ goddamn house.” Jeff _rebuilt_ this goddamn house; he should know. 

Darlene glares at him. “Fine. It’s a nice house. But it’s in a _shitty_ neighborhood, in a _dying_ town.” 

And if ain’t nobody else willing to do what’s right, then Jeff will. “Fine, then. I’ll stay. I’ll take them. I’ll live here.” 

“What in the hell are you going to do here?” She shakes her head at him. “There ain’t nothing for you here.” 

“We’re not selling the house,” he says again. “We ain’t.” 

There’s a child crying in the backyard. Darlene glances over, starts to get up. “Ty?” she says pointedly on her way to the door. 

Ty shrugs again, sort of helplessly. “Jeff – ” 

“Oh, fuck this,” Jeff says, and walks out. 

 

 

Darlene seems to be under the impression if she leaves him alone, he’ll come around on his own. 

Instead, Jeff settles in. In the mornings, he wakes up and makes coffee in his mama’s coffee pot, adds creamer to his mug, even though he don’t take it, just because it’s there. He makes eggs in her cast-iron skillet. The one that’s older than he is; the one that may be older that _she_ is. Was. 

Jeff, Tash, and Baby Girl eat breakfast sitting in front of the TV. It’s far enough into December for the Christmas specials to be on. They watch Rudolph and Frosty ‘til Jeff can mouth the words along with them, ‘til Jeff’s brain is numb. 

For dinner, the girls want nothing but their grandma’s chicken soup. So Jeff makes soup. 

It rains at night, and the house creaks and settles in a way that’s familiar deep down in his bones. 

On Christmas Eve, Darlene shows up, expresses disgust at the state of them – pajamas stained, the girls’ hair a wild mess, Jeff cultivating almost a week’s worth of beard – and drags them to church. 

Jeff don’t listen to the Preacher – don’t ever – hasn’t ever – not really. But he does listen to the choir, their voices spiraling up high and thin towards the rafters, promises of love, promises of something better. It’s a pretty thought, although all told, Jeff would rather have the here and now be better. 

Jeff spends Christmas on the back steps of his sister’s apartment complex, doing his best to pretend the day ain’t what it is. Tash stays pressed to his side like a burr. She’s in an equally foul mood. By mutual agreement, they don’t talk about it. 

They’re still out there when Darlene comes out carrying coffee. “There’s hot chocolate in the kitchen.” She looks at Tash and tips her head. “Go on.” When Tash gets up, Darlene hands him a mug, sits down in the place her niece vacated. She touches the scruff on his face. “Oh, brother,” she sighs. “What are we going to do with you?” 

Jeff twitches away from her, scowling. 

But after they’ve sat in the quiet for a long minute, he says, “You’re really leaving?” 

Darlene smiles, crooked, tired. “Yeah. I’ve got my own family I have to take care of. And a bigger town… bigger thinking… it doesn’t sound so bad.” She looks out over the parking lot. “You could – ” 

“I’m fine here,” Jeff mutters. “I am.” 

Darlene frowns at this, skeptical. “Sounds like you could be better than _fine_ out in California.” 

Jeff twists, uncomfortable. “And what about the family? Who’s gonna take care of things around here?” 

“Sooner or later they’re going to have to learn to take care of themselves. Even Ty – ” She snorts. “Even Ty’s going to have to grow up, someday. And as for Mary Louise – ” Darlene breaks off. Her lips press together, thin out. “Well, I lost my baby sister a long time ago.” 

Jeff nods towards the house, where Tash and Baby Girl are still inside. “And what about them?” 

 

 

When Mike calls, he asks, “When do you think you’re coming back?” 

Jeff closes his eyes, pushes down on the panicked feeling in his chest, and says, “I don’t know.” Because there’s something in Mike’s voice that makes it impossible to say _I’m not._

 

 

Jeff is staying. Jeff is doing the right thing. Jeff is doing the responsible thing. 

He picks up part time work at a warehouse that stocks building supplies. It pays shit, but between that and his savings – which thanks to _sportfishing,_ are better than they have been in some time – he’s got time to find something better. Lacey watches Baby Girl for him while he’s working, and Tash after school lets out. Today, when he comes to pick them up, she meets him at the door. “You know, Frank stopped by the bar last night.” 

Jeff rolls his eyes. “So?” 

“So he was talking about how pissed he was – how pissed Mary Louise was – you standing in the way of selling the house.” She raises one of her carefully colored-in eyebrows and taps his chest with her finger. “You best be careful. Frank’s not a good man to have pissed at you.” 

“Oh, fuck Frank.” 

Lacey puts her hands on her hips, and drops her voice. “You listen to me, Jeff Carter – he was _mad._ He was talking like he was gonna kill you.” 

Jeff shakes his head – Lacey’s a talker. 

Lacey looks like she wants to say more, but Tash catches sight of him at that point, and she ain’t about to be pried off. 

 

 

Jeff cooks chicken and dumplings for the three of them, because the temperature has dipped on down to 55, and that’s cold for the Bay. He’s pinching off pieces of dough, talking to Mike, phone wedged between his neck and ear. 

“So it was basically the stupidest roughing penalty, ever,” Mike finishes. “How was your day?” 

“Hmm?” Jeff’s distracted, digging in the cupboard for cayenne. “Oh – boring. I got a box dropped on my foot at work.” 

There’s a pause on Mike’s end. “You got a job?” 

Jeff curses silently. “Mike – ” 

“You’re staying out there, aren’t you?” 

“Mike, fuck – I don’t know.” There’s headlights coming up the drive. Jeff frowns, because that sounds like Frank’s truck. 

Mike’s still talking in his ear. “Jeff, I don’t know why the fuck you want to stay there. Why is it your job to take care of everyone? Especially when half of them aren’t worth it – ” 

“Hey,” Jeff says sharply, because worth it or not, they’re family. Although he’s having a hard time concentrating on the argument, given that he’s trying to squint into the darkness outside the kitchen window. 

Mike sighs. “I just wish you’d give me a straight answer – ” 

There’s a nervous twitchiness settling in under his skin. Jeff flips the porch lights on. He covers the speaker with his hand and calls into the living room. “Tash, honey?” Her head pops up over the back of the couch. “Go get me grandma’s shotgun.” 

Tash hesitates just a split second, but then she’s up and moving. Jeff keeps his eyes out the window. 

“Jeff? Jeff, are you even listening?” 

Jeff’s heartbeat is starting to pick up, a cold prickle going down the back of his neck. “I’m going to have to call you back, Mike.” He hangs up on whatever response Mike has. Jeff squats down to take the gun from Tash. “Honey, go get your sister. Both of you get in the bathtub, and you stay there ‘til I tell you to come out, you hear?” 

“Yes, sir,” she says, and nods – because she’s a good girl when it matters. 

The shells are still in the drawer next to the sink. 

Outside, Frank and one of his friends are climbing out the truck. Frank’s illuminated by the dome light and he’s reaching for something tucked up under the sun visor. 

Yeah, that’s a gun. 

Jeff slides the kitchen window open, yells out, “The fuck do you think you’re doing here, Frank. I told you not to come back here.” 

“Yeah?” Frank’s standing just beyond the steps, just at the edge of the porchlight. “And I think I said, ‘What the fuck are you going to do about it?’” 

Jeff tries to swallow, but there ain’t no moisture left in his mouth. His heart jackhammers up inside his chest. “I said, _leave.”_ Jeff hates the way he sounds, his voice unsteady. He sounds afraid. 

Just at the edge of the porch light, he can see Frank smile. He drops his cigarette into the lawn. “I ain’t leaving,” he says. “But you are. One way or the other, Jeff Carter, I’m going take you _out_ of that house.” 

Jeff aims out the window, fires high. Frank’s friend jumps and cowers behind the truck, but Frank just laughs, steps right up onto the first porch step. “And I’m going to take those girls. They ain’t yours, you don’t give a fuck about them, and I know people who’d just _love_ to have them.” His mouth is a dark, gaping leer. He takes another step forward. “You think you’re so much better than us, Jeff Carter. Think you’re so smart. Well, it’s too bad you don’t have any balls, you ain’t got the nerve, you fucking f – ” 

Jeff’s shot takes him in the shoulder. 

“Holy shit!” Frank’s friend is screaming. Jeff’s reloading, quick – but Frank’s friend is dragging him back into the truck, and they’re hauling ass back down the drive. 

Jeff’s heart is thumping. Everything around him is sharply outlined, extra bright. He stands motionless, swallows twice. He sets the gun down. Very carefully, very deliberately, reaches out, turns off the stove. Covers the pot. 

Time speeds up again, sound kicks back in – and he’s moving fast, striding down the hall. When he pushes open the door to the bathroom, he stops, freezes. The girls are curled together in the tub. Tash’s wrapped them both up in one of mama’s quilts, and she’s pressing her hands over her sister’s ears. 

Jeff’s throat closes up. “Tash,” he finally gets out. “Go run get your storm bags.” And then he scoops up Baby Girl, quilt and all. Tash is already sprinting back towards him. Jeff sticks both of them in the truck, tossing the bags in after them. 

Both hands on the steering wheel, gripping too tight to tremble. Jeff is on the highway before he realizes he don’t know where they’re going. Hey digs his phone out. 

Mike answers by saying, “Jeff, are you okay? You sounded weird.” 

“Yes. No.” Jeff’s eyes dart to the review. He keeps expecting to see lights, hear sirens. “I’m leaving Bay Cliff, Mike.” 

“Jeff, what are you – ” 

“I’m in the truck, Mike, I’ve got the girls with me, and I need to know _right now_ if we’re driving to Austin or the airport.” 

There’s half a beat of silence, and then, “The airport,” Mike says firmly. “You’re headed to the airport.” 

 

 

Jeff has a whole story worked out he’s planning to tell the agent who’s working the United check-in counter, but she just glances at their birth certificates, glances at his driver’s license, all three of which say _Carter_ on them, and books them on the last flight into LAX. 

Jeff has never been more glad to have money in his whole life. 

 

 

They get into LA late. Mike picks them up. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are wide and watchful over Jeff and the girls. Jeff turns around to look at them, tucked against each other in the back seat of Mike’s car. And here he is, washing up like driftwood on Mike’s shores. Again. 

Jeff can’t settle, not until the door is latched shut behind them, not until the girls are bundled into the bed in Mike’s guestroom. They’re exhausted; they’re out the moment they’re finally still, the instant they stop moving, the quilt he carried Baby Girl in settled over the top of them. 

Jeff watches them from the doorway, breathing deep and even. It’s like all the weight in the universe is pressing down on him, compressing him down to one, single point. Jeff squeezes his eyes tightly shut. 

Mike reaches out and squeezes his hand. When he looks down, Jeff notices his own hands are trembling. 

 

 

Mike pours him a drink, and Jeff frowns down at it and starts talking. 

At a certain point, Mike’s eyes get very big, and he very carefully sets his own glass down. “Wait,” he says. “Go back to the part where you _shot somebody?”_

Jeff’s don’t get more than two or three more words out before Mike’s getting his phone out and he’s dialing. “Who the hell are you calling?” Jeff asks. 

“Who the hell do you _think?_ I’m calling my lawyer.” 

Jeff doesn’t know what sort of lawyer you can call up at two in the morning, but this one has him tell his whole story again, into the speakerphone. Interrupting every so often with questions. _Hmming_ and _ahhing_ over his answers. She says she’ll call them back in the morning. She tells him not to go anywhere. 

Jeff tries not to think about what that one phone call cost. 

Mike takes him upstairs. His gaze is cool and focused as he unbuttons Jeff’s shirt, pushes it back off his shoulders. His hands are a firm, steady pressure pushing him back into bed. 

“I’m sorry,” Jeff says. 

Mike huffs and curls around him. “Don’t apologize.” 

The lawyer calls back in the morning, tells them there was a report of shots fired, but nothing found at the scene, and the girls haven’t been reported missing. She tells them she’s taking the preliminary steps to file for custody, and not to leave town. Again. 

Mike’s got dark circles under his eyes. “I’ve got to go, I have practice. Will you guys be okay here?” 

Mike’s house is full of glass, and fragile game controllers, and stairs without railings. Jeff takes them to the beach. The sand is whiter. There are surfers paddling out into the waves. The water’s cold. The sun sets in the wrong spot. 

They go home when it starts getting dark. 

There is a lot of talk and a lot of phone calls, and the upshot is Jeff has to go back to Texas and sign some papers. He tells the lawyer _fine,_ and _yes,_ and _okay._ He doesn’t tell the lawyer about the phone call he makes to Mary Louise. “Sign the papers,” he says, “and I’ll give you $500.” 

 

 

Jeff gets on a plane and flies to Texas. He swears oaths and signs papers. On the steps of the county courthouse, he hands his sister five hundred dollar bills. 

Mary Louise cocks her head and looks at him sly. “Each,” she says. “I want $500, _each.”_

“Mary Louise,” Jeff growls. 

She’s smiling. “Give me a thousand, or I’ll tell them you’re queer. Ain’t no judge in Texas that’ll give ‘em to you, then.” 

Well. Don’t that sum things up nice. 

Jeff goes to the bank and gets the money. “Sign it,” he says. And when he hands it over, he tries not to think about how he’s buying his nieces. 

Jeff stays the night in his mama’s house. 

It’s odd, and still, and empty. And for the first time in his life, it feels strange around him. 

Jeff loves this town. He loves the way the whole place slopes down to the bay, loves the high-flung bridges that arc overhead. Loves the sun bleached chairs sitting out on porches, like they’re just waiting for someone to come home. Loves the way the land stretches out to the water, meets up with it and retreats back, the shoreline a twisting, unsteady progression of bays and inlets. 

Jeff turns over, restless, and thinks about how this place is full of the sound of gulls, boat engines, and flapping sails. This place is full of the smell of cumin and cayenne. This place tastes of heat, of spice and smoke, and always, always just on the edge of everything, of salt. 

This place is a two-step rhythm, set to steel guitar and fiddle. And in all he’s seen or heard, no one has ever laughed louder than the people here, loved harder than the people here, no one has ever looked around at less and felt such a defiant, sweeping pride, no one’s more prone to smile or curse, and slyly confide, _hell yes, I’m from Texas._

Jeff _loves_ this place. 

But it don’t love him back. 

And it ain’t ever going to. Jeff can be _of_ it, and _from_ it. Can breathe its rhythms and clad himself in its trappings, but they ain’t ever going to take him. Not the whole him. 

Jeff’s mama’s house is gray, weathered wood. The porch is a thousand summer days of sweet tea and sandwiches, a thousand nights of watching fireflies. The porch is plotting adventures and escapes, meeting Mike, and holding Tasha in his arms when she was just a tiny, tiny thing that had come too soon to a mother too torn up to love her. The bedroom is ten thousand nights of watching lightning from the window, and the sound of rain, and sleep held up by thoughts of _what’s wrong with me,_ accompanied by the forbidden, humiliating taste of salt running down his face. The kitchen is just one thing – just one constant memory – of his mother. Her hands cool when he was flushed; her arms warm when he was lonely. 

But his mama’s dead. And Jeff’s already looted everything of value out of this house. “Sell it,” he says the next morning, when he talks to Darlene. “Sell the house.” 

“Jeff,” she says. “You sure?” 

“Yeah.” Jeff tilts his head back ‘til it knocks against the wall. Runs his hand over the smooth surface. The color’s ever so slightly different than the one it’s adjacent to. Because he built it. Because it’s new. “I think I’m done with this place.” 

Darlene sighs, and he can hear the way the breath she lets out is shaky, stutters a little leaving her chest. “It ain’t always a bad thing, Jeff. Starting over somewhere new.” 

“No,” he says. “I guess it ain’t.” 

 

 

It ain’t easy. They’re all of them just a bit messed up. 

He fights with Mike. Mike, who keeps saying, “I _don’t care_ about the money,” until he’s blue in the face, and Jeff screaming back, “But _I do.”_

Tash pulls into herself, somber and silent in a way she never was back in Texas. 

Baby Girl loses words, demands to be carried, like the best approach to all this change it to just throw the clock back, revert to babyhood. 

 

 

But: 

“Look,” Mike says. “People get married, and then they mix up their finances. We just did it backwards, okay? We just messed up the order.” 

“Fine,” Jeff says. “But my money from the house – that’s going to go towards paying you back, alright?” 

“Okay,” Mike says. _“Okay._ But can we please just stop freaking out about it?” 

And: 

Tash watches her first game with her nose pressed to glass. 

Later, she says, “I want to do that. I want to play hockey.” 

“Oh, honey,” Jeff says. “Girls don’t play hockey.” 

But Mike frowns, looks at him like he’s crazy. “Sure they do.” 

Then, despite being a man who claims to be busy, Mike spends _all day_ on the internet and making phone calls, figuring out who he wants for her skating coach. 

And: 

They can see up into the canyons from their new backyard. It smells like oranges – branches of the tree dragged low by the weight of the fruit. The yard is filled up with people – teammates, and colleagues, and new neighbors. Mike is holding forth on the benefits of double-paned windows – Baby Girl cradled casually in one arm, gesticulating with the beer in his other. 

It becomes clear Doughty’s tuned out when he turns to Lewis, a thoughtful look on his face. “Well,” he says, “I guess you can turn a ho into a housewife, after all.” 

Mike rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t break stride in his monologue. 

 

 

Jeff has a partner, who plays hockey. Jeff has a sister he calls, and one he don’t. And two nieces, the eldest of whom is developing a mean right-handed snipe, while the younger is busy discarding her drawl in favor of a bright valley girl cadence. Jeff has a job with a sport-fishing company, and a house that backs up to the canyons and looks down on the city. 

At night, it’s all glittering lights, all the way out to the sea. 

It’s a city of planted rows of citrus, oceans of strip malls. The shimmering promise of fame and poverty rubbing shoulders. Boardwalks and short shorts. Traffic and smog. 

But it is also a city where no one cares if Mike touches his arm, puts his hand on the small of Jeff’s back. A city where almost no one is actually _from_ – but where everyone presses in from somewhere else. A city of seekers, for dreamers, all thinking about that chance, that opportunity to be found under an endless summer sun. 

And that is how Jeff comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bay Cliff, Texas is a fictional amalgamation of several gulf coast towns I have known and loved.
> 
> While Hurricanes Katrina and Rita really did occur in 2005, Hurricane Ike actually made landfall in September of 2008 (several years earlier than depicted). 
> 
>  
> 
> A note about dialect: I based the language used in this story on how my family speaks. We’re a hodge-podge group, with one branch coming in from Virginia, and a big contingent that’s drifted south from Arkansas. Not all of us are white. Not all of us were raised in households where English was the first language. If you’re looking for a pure example of a regional dialect, we’re probably a pretty piss-poor example :) I also specifically based the language (especially in the first sections) on the language we use to _tell stories_ \- which is to say, exaggerated for effect in places. I was going for a slow-fade of dialect as Jeff moves out into the world. Maybe it worked? 
> 
>  
> 
> Epigraphs: (1) Walt Whitman, _Leaves of Grass_. (2) Big K.R.I.T, _Country Sh*t_. (3) Lyle Lovett, _Texas River Song_. (4) The Briggs, _This is L.A._.
> 
>    
> Thank you to everyone who commented on this story. You made it better.  
>  
> 
> Soundtrack!
> 
>  
> 
> 1  
> Little Texas - God Blessed Texas [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbH60wCO-Yw)]  
> Alejandro Escovedo - Ballad of the Sun and the Moon [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JIEfoJvL5cM)]  
> Mary-Chapin Carpenter - I am a town [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7xNoF1La-qs)]  
> Jake Brennan and the Confidence Men - Believe Me [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DSQGQOpaaLE)]  
> Lucinda Williams - Car Wheels On A Gravel Road [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jxpPL_aY190)]  
> Clare Burson - Where You Are [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FjHA2biJC5I)]  
> Emmylou Harris - Waltz Across Texas [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5VG5PnFBk1g)]  
> 2  
> Big K.R.I.T. - Country Sh*t (Remix) [[Vimeo](http://vimeo.com/24156386)]  
> Hayes Carll - Hey Baby Where You Been [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jGGtWXkQG_A)]  
> Lyle Lovett - That's Right (You're Not From Texas) [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nMhaehb5AnE)]  
> Dan Colehour - Your Secret's Save With Me [[MySpace](http://www.myspace.com/music/player?sid=119533&ac=now)]  
> G.T. Block Bleedaz feat. Lil B - Maintain [[Grooveshark](http://grooveshark.com/#!/artist/G+T+Block+Bleedaz+Feat+Lil+B/1328515)]  
> Chip Taylor & Carrie Rodriguez - Sweet Tequila Blues [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNItDggR6c0)]  
> Lil Boosie [feat. Young Jeezy & Webbie] - Better Believe It [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HL2rKVfIbgs)]  
> 3  
> Lyle Lovett - Texas River Song [[Amazon](http://www.amazon.com/Texas-River-Song/dp/B000VZ2FK2/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1356220098&sr=8-2&keywords=lyle+lovett+texas+river+song)]  
> Barry Mc Cabe - Kissin' In Your Sleep [[Artist's Site](http://www.barrymccabe.com/music/?id=1)]  
> Willie Nelson - Stay All Night (Stay A Little Bit Longer) [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ej-u1H8xRWc)]  
> Craig Marshall - You Can't Lose [[Amazon](http://www.amazon.com/You-Cant-Lose/dp/B0014HQ520/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1356220202&s=dmusic&sr=1-1)]  
> Steve Earle - Telephone Road [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGnUsl1Azms)]  
> Grayson Capps - Back to the Country [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zh7ESUAxs44)]  
> 4  
> Madeleine Peyroux - A Prayer [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhhQ7G3uFAk)]  
> Merle Haggard - Mama Tried [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UKuc4nfJByc)]  
> Toby Keith & Willie Nelson - Beer For My Horses [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o1JOFhfoAD4)]  
> Lucinda Williams - Real Live Bleeding Fingers and Broken Guitar Strings [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oLFX0pN-9i0)]  
> Kathleen Edwards - Hockey Skates [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DQZ50RdpkKo)]  
> Joshua Morrison - Home [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=esDFv89iP8I)]  
> The Briggs - This Is L.A. [[Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lpGIwRm6ak4)]  
> If you like any of the music, please support the artist!


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